K. C. NOTE III. MY DEAR FATHER,--I found your letter here, whence I depart to-morrow. Excuse haste. I go abroad, and shall write to you from Calais. I admire Leopold Travers very much. After all, how much of self-balance there is in a true English gentleman! Toss him up and down where you will, and he always alights on his feet,--a gentleman. He has one child, a daughter named Cecilia,--handsome enough to allure into wedlock any mortal whom Decimus Roach had not convinced that in celibacy lay the right “Approach to the Angels.” Moreover, she is a girl whom one can talk with. Even you could talk with her. Travers wishes her to marry a very respectable, good-looking, promising gentleman, in every way “suitable,” as they say. And if she does, she will rival that pink and perfection of polished womanhood, Lady Glenalvon. I send you back my portmanteau. I have pretty well exhausted my experience-money, but have not yet encroached on my monthly allowance. I mean still to live upon that, eking it out, if necessary, by the sweat of my brow or brains. But if any case requiring extra funds should occur,--a case in which that extra would do such real good to another that I feel _you_ would do it,--why, I must draw a check on your bankers. But understand that is your expense, not mine, and it is _you_ who are to be repaid in Heaven. Dear father, how I do love and honour you every day more and more! Promise you not to propose to any young lady till I come first to you for consent!--oh, my dear father, how could you doubt it? how doubt that I could not be happy with any wife whom you could not love as a daughter? Accept that promise as sacred. But I wish you had asked me something in which obedience was not much too facile to be a test of duty. I could not have obeyed you more cheerfully if you had asked me to promise never to propose to any young lady at all. Had you asked me to promise that I would renounce the dignity of reason for the frenzy of love, or the freedom of man for the servitude of husband, then I might have sought to achieve the impossible; but I should have died in the effort!--and thou wouldst have known that remorse which haunts the bed of the tyrant. Your affectionate son, K. C. CHAPTER XXI. THE next morning Kenelm surprised the party at breakfast by appearing in the coarse habiliments in which he had first made his host’s acquaintance. He did not glance towards Cecilia when he announced his departure; but, his eye resting on Mrs. Campion, he smiled, perhaps a little sadly, at seeing her countenance brighten up and hearing her give a short sigh of relief. Travers tried hard to induce him to stay a few days longer, but Kenelm was firm. “The summer is wearing away,” said he, “and I have far to go before the flowers fade and the snows fall. On the third night from this I shall sleep on foreign soil.” “You are going abroad, then?” asked Mrs. Campion. “Yes.”