Mr. Jerningham looked at Helen, curious to see how she was affected by this conversation; but this time her face betrayed no emotion, and in the next minute she quickly left the room, “on hospitable thoughts intent,” and eager to hold counsel with the powers of the household. Mr. Jerningham would, in all probability, dine at the cottage, and weighty questions, involving a choice of fish and poultry, for the time banished all other thoughts from the young lady’s mind. “Let me congratulate you upon being the father of that lovely girl,” said Harold, when she was gone. “Yes, I suppose she is very pretty. Like a Madonna, by Raphael, is she not? the _belle jardinière_, or the _Madone de la chaise_. And she is as good as she is beautiful. Yes, I thank God for having given me that dear child. Without her I should be only a bookish abstraction; with her I am a happy man.” “Unluckily for you, the day must come when she will make the happiness of some other man.” “Why unluckily? I do not suppose my daughter’s husband will refuse me a corner by his fireside.” “That depends upon the kind of man he may be.” “She would scarcely choose the kind of man who would deny her father’s right to take his place in her home; not as a dependant, but in the simple Continental fashion, as a member of the household, with a due share in all its responsibilities.” “You will, perhaps, arrange your daughter’s marriage in the Continental fashion, and choose her husband for her when the fitting time comes?” “By no means. I have scarcely ever contemplated the question. My dear child is all in all to me; and it is just possible I may be a little jealous of the man who shall divide her heart with me. But I will not tamper with the ways of Providence in so solemn a question as her happiness. She shall marry the man of her choice, be he rich or poor, noble or simple.” “And if she should make a foolish choice?” “She will not make a foolish choice. She is the child of my own teaching, and I will answer for her wisdom. She will be the dupe of no falsehood, the victim of no artifice. She will never mistake _clinquant_ for gold.” “You are very bold, my dear De Bergerac. Certainly the young lady seems the first remove from an angel; and I suppose the angels see all things clearly. And now let us talk about your secretary. How did you pick him up?” “He was recommended to me by Mr. Desmond, of the _Areopagus_. I think you know Mr. Desmond?” added the simple scholar, who lived remote from those regions in which the Platonic attachment of the lady and the editor was current gossip. “Yes,” said Mr. Jerningham, briefly, “I know him. And he recommended this young man--Thorburn? And now you must not be angry with me if I seem impertinent. Do you think it was quite wise to admit this protégé of Mr. Desmond’s to such very intimate association with your household?” “Why not?” “I suppose you happened to forget that you have a daughter?”