Judith was about to make some angry reply, feeling thoroughly disgusted at Florry's duplicity, when the door was thrown open, and Mr. Marson entered the room. A tall, severe-looking man, this Francis Marson, with a worn, worried expression on his face. He sighed wearily as he sat down near the fire. "Oh, what a sigh--what a big sigh!" cried Florry, recovering her spirits and poising herself on the old man's knee. "What is the matter, papa?" "Nothing, child, nothing," replied Marson, hastily, smoothing the golden hair of his darling. "Business worries, my dear; what I spoke about the other day." "Oh!" Florry drew down the corners of her mouth as if she were going to cry; then, suddenly changing her mind, she threw her arms round her father's neck, and placed her soft face against his withered cheek. "Don't talk about business, papa," she said, coaxingly; "I hate it; it's so disagreeable." "So it is for a frivolous young person like you, dear," said Mr. Marson, cheerfully; "but it's very necessary all the same. What would become of your thousand and one wants but for this same business you so disapprove of?" "Oh, I wish I had a fairy purse," cried Florry, clapping her hands, "with a gold piece in it every time I opened it. It would save such a lot of trouble." "A fairy world," said Mr. Marson, looking at her fondly; "that is what you would like. And you the lovely princess whom the handsome prince comes to awaken." "Well, Florry has a prince," said Judith, quietly; "the Prince of the Gold Mines!" She had not been paying much attention to the conversation between father and daughter, as she was evidently thinking deeply, and her thoughts, judging from the severe expression of her countenance, were not particularly pleasant. The last words of Mr. Marson, however, enchained her attention, and she made the remark about the prince on purpose to see if the old man knew how disagreeable the Spolger alliance was to his child. "A prince!" echoed Florry, tossing her head. "And what a prince! He's more like an ogre." "A very devoted ogre, at all events," said Judith, significantly. "Spolger's a good fellow," observed Marson, hurriedly; "a little rough, perhaps, but his heart is in the right place. Beauty is only skin-deep." "I suppose you mean--" began Florry, when her father interrupted her quickly. "Florry," he said, angrily, "I forbid you to mention that man's name. I would sooner see you in your grave than married to Sebastian Melstane." "There's no chance of that occurring now," interjected Judith, with sombre earnestness. The fairy looked from one to the other with a scared expression of countenance, and seeing how severe they both looked, subsided into a white heap on the hearthrug, and burst into tears.