But her father's bustling entry changed all this. She had not known of herself how susceptible she still was. Vicky had made her cower; but her father made her cry. He affected a bluff ease in his manner of greeting her. “Well, Sancie, well, my dear, well, well”--and then he cleared his throat; but he did not dare to look at her. Sancie answered him by jumping into his arms, and upset him altogether. “Oh, my girl, my girl--my little Sancie--” and then the pair of them mingled tears, while Mrs. Percival, who thought this exhibition out of place “under the circumstances,” and not in the best possible taste, tapped her foot on the carpet, and wished that Philippa had been here. But, once they were beyond a certain flood mark, as she know by long acquaintance, Mr. Percival's emotions must be given play. She retired, therefore, and left the clinging pair. Directly she was gone, the good gentleman's embrace of his child grew straighter, and his kisses of her brows and hair more ardent. He humbled himself before her, thanked her for coming back to him. “My darling, it was fine of you to come! 'Pon my soul, it was fine!” “No, darling, no,” she protested, smiling sadly at his fondness. “I always loved you, my child! My Sancie--you know that of your old father, hey?” He pinched her cheek before he kissed it again. “'Pon my life, it cut me down like a frost to do--what was done.” “I know, I know,” Sanchia murmured, and then begged him not to speak of it. “Ah, but I must, you know,” he vowed. “What! A damned unnatural father!...” And then he held her closely, while he whispered his anxiety. “Sancie--tell me, my lamb--put my mind at rest. He--that fellow--that Ingram--he was good to you, hey? He didn't--hey?” She vowed in her turn. “Oh, yes, dearest, yes. Of course he was. I was very happy, except for--what couldn't be helped, you know.” “Yes, yes--it couldn't be helped. I know that you felt that. I was bound--for the others, don't you see?--sake of example. That sort of thing, don't you see?” He shook his head. “We can't have that, you know. It don't do--in the long run. Very irregular, hey? And your mother, you know--she takes these things to heart. Goes too far, _I_ say. Sometimes goes a little to extremes, you know.” He grew quite scared as he recalled the scene. “I shall never forget”--shuddering, he clasped her close. “My darling girl, let's be happy again! It shall be right as--well, as rain, you know--now. We'll have you with a child on your knee in no time,--hey?” He seemed to think that marriage alone could work this boon. Again--as before with Vicky--Sanchia had not the heart to gainsay him. She allowed him to speculate as he would; and her mother, returning, found the pair, one on the other's knee, with the future cut and dried. But Sanchia rose at her entry. “Dearest, I must go now,” she told him, “but I'll see you again very soon.” He urged her to stay and dine. “We're quite alone, you know! No ceremony with our child, hey!”