"You know he loved my poor father, don't you?" she asked him in a lowered voice. She had never mentioned the dead man's name to him before; her cheek paled, he saw, as she did so now. "And I was my father's pet. You will not think me vain for saying that, will you? Mama will tell you it is not my selfish fancy alone. Mama will tell you it is true." "Indeed, Miss Deleah, I can quite believe it." "He was a good father to us all, and fond of us all, but of me he would talk always if he could get any to listen. He liked me to sit on his knee--I was younger then--to walk with him, and wait on him--" Her voice broke; she waited a minute before she went on. "And so I suppose Mr. Boult sends these things to me for papa's sake. I could not explain before; but you understand, do you not?" He quite understood her point of view, Mr. Gibbon said, looking at the tablecloth. "I knew you would, when I could explain. I think poor Mr. Boult likes me to take what he sends, for papa's sake--as if it really came from papa. You see what I mean? And I can't help thinking there is something beautiful in that thought of his." Mr. Gibbon reflectively agreed. It was a beautiful thought, come to think of it, he said. "Well, then--?" said Deleah. "Well then, Miss Deleah, don't you think by mentioning the matter to him, you'll spoil all that? His intention, his beautiful thought, and the rest of it." "Perhaps!" Deleah acquiesced seriously. "I must think about what you say." "You've done me a great honour to mention it, Miss Deleah. You won't think I'm taking upon myself in any way to give you my opinion?" "Oh, Mr. Gibbon! How could I ever think such a thing!" Deleah said, but began at once to be a little ashamed of the confidence she had made. With a man who could ask if he was "taking upon himself" she ought to have been more reserved, she thought. CHAPTER XIII The Gay, Gilded Scene Mrs. Day, being told that her daughters proposed to go unchaperoned to the Assembly Rooms that night, declared that for them to do so was unheard-of and not to be sanctioned. But, under the strain of adversity the poor woman's will, never a strong one, had weakened. She was painfully conscious of her own helplessness in the grip of circumstances, and was always troubled with doubts as to the wisdom of her own judgment. By the time her day's work was over she was too tired to stand up against any power she came into collision with. In all that concerned Bessie she was absolutely feeble. Bessie was victor always, not by reason of superior strength but through fractiousness, through stubbornness, through a hysterical determination to talk the opposing voices down, through her habit of crying like a baby when contradicted, and flinging things about.