‘Nothing,’ replied her daughter peevishly, ‘unless you will give papa a dose of morphia to keep him quiet till I can dress myself. What _is_ all this mystery about? Why can’t you say why the old gentleman is so desirous of my company this morning. He is not in the habit of dragging me out of bed, after a ball, at this unearthly hour.’ ‘It is nearly twelve o’clock, my dear!’ said Mrs Crampton evasively. ‘What of that? I ordered my trap to be round at four this afternoon, and told Ellen particularly that she was not to come near me till I rang. You know the Bouchers’ dance is on to-night, and a nice figure I shall look at it if I do not have my sleep out first.’ ‘Well, dear,’ replied her mother, soothingly, ‘you can come to bed again, if you think fit, in the afternoon. You know _I_ wouldn’t have disturbed you for all the world, but gentlemen are not always so considerate. And your father insisted upon my doing so, so what could I say?’ ‘What’s the row about?’ repeated Jenny, as her maid began to brush out and twist up her superabundant hair. But Mrs Crampton was too discreet to say all she knew before a servant. ‘Oh! it’s nothing particular, my love, and your father had best tell you himself. You needn’t be afraid, he loves you too dearly ever to scold you, whatever you may do or say.’ ‘Oh! I’m not afraid of the old man!’ rejoined the young lady; ‘only he’d better not go too far with me. I can guess what all the fuss is about, mamma, and I’ve got a will of my own, as well as he has. If papa is going to lecture me about Mr--’ ‘Now, dear, don’t mention any names,’ interposed Mrs Crampton quickly, ‘for it may only lead to mischief. Your papa must tell you his own business, and I’m sure you’ll do all in your power to fall in with his wishes.’ ‘I’m not so sure of that,’ replied the young lady, with a _moue_. ‘Here, Ellen, give me my blue tea-gown! My hair will do very well, for I shall most likely be in bed again in half an hour. Go down, whilst I’m with Mr Crampton, and fetch me some chocolate and a piece of toast, and let it be ready when I come back. Now! mamma, we’ll go and beard the old lion in his den.’ CHAPTER II. Jenny looked, if possible, lovelier than usual as she tripped downstairs beside her mother and her aunt. Her face was still flushed from sleep, and her hair had been twisted up anyhow, whilst the pale blue gown she wore accorded well with her rose-leaf complexion. Mrs Crampton and Miss Bostock accompanied her in trembling dread of the coming encounter, but the girl herself was perfectly confident and fearless. As they reached the door of the library, where her father awaited her, she caught sight of Aunt Clem’s visage and burst out laughing. ‘Oh, dear!’ she cried, ‘Aunt Clem, if you don’t put on some other kind of face, you’ll kill me! When you assume that lugubrious expression, you look so like a cow that I always expect to hear you low.’ ‘Dearest child! that is not kind,’ remarked her mother, with mild reproof.