I slipped my hand inside his arm. I might not have done this if I had been quite certain about that story of Aunt Penelope's; but then I was doubting it more and more each moment. I was firmly convinced that there was not a syllable of truth in it, and I had him quite to myself, and I could soon talk him round with regard to Vernon. Of course, he would not wish me to marry an old man like Lord Hawtrey when there was a young man like Vernon Carbury longing to have me, longing to clasp me to his heart as his true love--his true wife. Daddy was not worldly-minded--of that I was certain. We walked down the steep hill about which I had got directions from the fat woman, and plunged into the little town. "I suppose we'd best get to your aunt's at once, child?" said my father. "No," I answered; "I want us to come up on the Downs first. Are you frightfully, frightfully hungry? For if you are, we can buy some cakes and eat them up on the Downs." "Well, I am not disinclined for a meal; but I'll tell you what we will do. We will go on the Downs first, and afterwards we will visit the best restaurant in Cherton. Come along, little woman; let's march. Eh, dear! it's a good thing to stretch one's legs. It's an awful matter to have to confess, Heather, but I'm about sick of that everlasting motoring. I'd give a good deal to be rid of it once and for all. But there! that is high treason. Lady Helen wouldn't like me to talk like that; and she is a good soul, you know, Heather--a right, good, generous creature. She doesn't mind how much she spends on a person. She has never stinted you, has she, Heather? Come now, confess the truth." "Oh, no," I replied, "she has been horribly, terribly generous." "Child! What on earth do you mean?" "I will tell you when we get on the Downs." He looked at me in a surprised sort of way, opened his lips as if to speak, then remained silent. I found I was walking too quickly for him; I was obliged to slacken my steps. I was surprised at this, for in all my long experience I had considered him one of the very strongest of men, a man who would never be tired, who was possessed of unbounded vitality, with such a great, strong flood of life in him that nothing of the ordinary sort could extinguish it. Nevertheless, he panted now and puffed as I walked with him up towards the Downs. "Why, Dad!" I cried, "is this too much for you?" "I expect so," he answered. "It's that beastly motoring--I never can stretch my legs. Upon my word, I am losing my muscle; I shall be a worn-out, rheumatic old man in no time--it's all Helen's fault." "You ought to play golf," I said; "men of your age, not old men--of course, you're not old--but men of your age spend hours at golf, and that keeps them active. That's what you ought to do--it is, really and truly."