“Instead, you discovered that I was a mere flesh and blood mortal like the rest.” He permitted himself to unbend, and even to smile a little, as he furnished this conclusion to her sentence. “Was it a very painful disillusionment?” “Oh, I’ve read and heard enough about the lives that your class lead here in Europe,” she replied, with a marked reversion toward her former manner. “I don’t pretend that I was really surprised.” David assumed a judicial expression. “Considering the way we are brought up, and the temptations that are thrust upon us,” he said, impartially, “I would not say that we are so much worse than other men.” “But you are pretty bad--that you must admit.” Before David had satisfactorily framed the admission expected of him, the sound of an opening door and of footsteps came from within. “It is papa,” whispered the girl, leaning forward in a confidential manner. “I’m going to tell him.” “I see no valid objection,” answered David, with dignity. CHAPTER VIII. As the balcony was too small for another chair, and Mr. Skinner did not come to the window, his daughter led her guest into the sitting-room. “Papa,” she said, “you will recall the gentleman whom we met yesterday at the British Museum.” Mr. Skinner lifted to its place the _pince-nez_ which depended on a gold thread from the lapel of his carefully-buttoned frock-coat, and scrutinised the person indicated in a painstaking manner. “Ah, yes, indeed,” he said, continuing his gaze, but with no salutation, and no offer of the hand. “It’s so dark in here, I don’t believe you do,” she remarked, to cover the awkwardness of the moment. “The sun has gone now, any way,” and she moved back and put a hand upon the awning-cord. “Permit me,” said David, hurrying to her side, and pulling at the shade. “He’s out of sorts about something,” the girl murmured furtively. “Don’t mind it; just leave him to me.” In the brightened light, Mr. Skinner’s demeanour seemed no more cordial. He regarded his visitor with a doubtful glance, and gave indications of a sense of embarrassment in his presence. The daughter, however, was in no respect dismayed by her responsibility. “Papa,” she said with brisk decision, “it was all a joke yesterday. Our friend was so amused by your offer yesterday----” “I beg your pardon, Adele,” the father interposed ceremoniously, “but it becomes immediately incumbent upon me to express my dissent. To obviate any possible misconception, it should be explicitly stated that, although it is true that the task of formulating the proposal to which you allude did undoubtedly devolve upon me, the proposition itself, both in spirit and suggestion, originated in your own consciousness.”