"Yes. I found his address on a visiting card. I went there in a taxi-cab; he was out, but I waited for him--he came in presently, he was very nice--oh, yes! I saw him for a minute or two. I said I wanted to speak to him; he told me he could not attend to me then or in his own house, but he would send his sister to me." "Thank goodness!" said my father. "Her name was Lady Mary Percy. She was a nice woman; she came and she took me to her house, and there and then I told her everything. I told her about Vernon and about--about her brother, and what her brother had said to me. She was kind, although she said one or two strange things. I could not quite understand her, and some of the things she said stuck in my mind. She seemed to think that I had refused the greatest match in England." "And so you have, you most silly of all little Heathers." "Oh, no, Daddy! The greatest match in all England I have not refused; I have accepted Vernon Carbury. He is the best husband in all the world for me." "It is amazing what love will do," said my father then. "I felt something like that for your mother--eh! but that was a long time ago!" "Then, of course, you understand," I said, nestling up to him, "you are my darling old Dad, and you quite understand." "I don't, not a bit; and yet, at the same time, I do. Well, go on. You were at Lady Mary Percy's when you left off talking. How, in the name of fortune, did you get here?" "I left her after a bit. I would not go back to you, so I came to Aunt Penelope. I took the train here; I had money; and it was quite simple. I found my darling auntie very ill, but the sight of me has made her better. The doctor was so glad when I came back, and so was poor little Jonas--the Buttons, you know, Dad--you remember the Buttons?" "Yes, yes; of course, I remember him." "Auntie is in bed, very weak." "Then she won't want to see me," said my father, restlessly. "Yes; of course she will; she is expecting you. But now, I want to say something to you. I must say it; oh, Daddy, I must." His face turned white. He pulled his soft hat a little over his eyes and looked fixedly at me. "Well, Heather, speak. You--you're no coward." "I don't think I am. It began first in this way," I said. "It was something Lady Mary said; these were her words. She said: 'You are, of course, aware of the fact that Hawtrey must have loved you beyond the ordinary love of an ordinary man when he made up his mind to take as a wife the daughter of Major Grayson?'" "So he must; that's true enough, Heather."