“I don’t know if I am coming to see it, papa. I think I always saw it. One does not think much whether the people one cares for are clever or not.” Then perceiving the inference which might be drawn from her words, Rita blushed wildly, and turned suddenly upon her father defiant eyes. But he did not make any remark, half because he was weak, half because of a mingled pang of satisfaction and pain to think that “the people she cared for” now included other relations than those of the earliest stage in life. A father, perhaps, feels it more than a mother when his daughter’s heart goes away from him to another man: there is a keener jealousy in it, a sharper sense of contrast. He had concentrated all his happiness in his child; and, lo! in a moment there appeared a stranger in her life who would be more to her than he was. The first shock of this discovery is always painful; and as he lay there bearing this and thinking over all that was before him, an infinite sadness came into the Vice-Consul’s smile. It was not only natural that this blossom of his life should detach itself from him, but it was well. To preside at and assist in the replacement of one’s self by another, preparing as it were the preliminary ceremonials of one’s own funeral, is a curious experience; but Mr. Bonamy felt, with a little melancholy that this was the thing which it now remained for him to do. He could not help making comparisons between himself and Harry. Harry was not clever; he was a good fellow who sat and gaped when the conversation took anything beyond a practical turn. Yes: he was a very good fellow; he had been a saviour in trouble; but yet--Mr. Bonamy smiled sadly at the idea of stepping down from his throne, and bidding Harry mount in his place; he could not promote him to his vice-consulship, but he could promote him to the throne of Rita, which was more. And it would be well--the best thing that could happen. Having once had an “attack,” which was how he put it euphemistically--a man was sure to have more; and the third kills. Therefore, how needful it was, how essential to have some one to care for Rita, somebody in whose hands he could leave her--when he died! “When I die”--these are words which it is hard to say without some faint shiver. When one is far off from all appearance of that conclusion, they may be easy; but when the preliminaries of the end have already taken place, and the clouds are gathering towards the great final tableau and termination, then the very cadence of them has something in it that gives a tingle to all the nerves. “When I die.” Mr. Bonamy was not much over fifty; he had not thought of anything of the kind. But here it was looking him in the face whether he would or not.