"I will leave you two," she said. "Gordon, I shall expect you to be ready for our drive in half an hour's time; meanwhile, you may pet your daughter as much as you please--perhaps you can tell her one or two things which will change her opinion of me. Meanwhile, I shall go to my room and rest." She swept out of the room; I heard the rustle of her silk petticoats. When the door closed behind her I raised my tear-dimmed face: "Daddy, Daddy," I said, "she can't dispose of me like that--she can't take the man I love away, Daddy, and make me marry against my will a man I don't like! Oh, darling, it isn't possible, is it?" "You shan't marry Hawtrey against your will--I promise you that," said my father. "Then, Daddy, it's all right, because I refused him last night--I refused him absolutely. He will never ask me again." "I think it likely that he will ask you many times, poor child." "He mustn't--he shan't! I won't see him." "Heather, listen to me. Sit up; don't give way. It cuts me to the heart to deny you anything, and I fully believe that Carbury is all right and as straight as possible. A gallant soldier, child--yes, a gallant soldier. Mark my words, there are no men in all the world like soldiers, Heather; they are the pick of the earth--so brave, so honourable, so true. That's what Carbury is, and if he were rich and in the same position as Hawtrey, you should be his wife with all the pleasure in the world. But, Heather, my poor little girl, I can't fight against such long odds. I could once, but, child, I am a broken man, a broken man, and I can't withstand her. She has got me into a sort of trap. She pretends she's done everything in the world for me; I was mad enough--oh! I won't speak of that--I am her husband now, and I suppose most people would think that I'd done well for myself--they'd revel in the contrast between my life of late and my life now, and say 'That beggar Grayson'--but there! I won't speak of it." "Daddy--has--Lady Helen--got ... I don't like to say--has she got a ... I mean, Daddy, are you a little--_tiny_ bit--you, a brave soldier--a little, tiny bit afraid of her?" "Afraid!" said my father. "Poof! not a bit of it. It is she who has cause to be afraid of me. I could--and, as there is a heaven above us, I will, too--frighten her into giving me some of my own way; yes, and I will, if she doesn't act fair by you, little girl." "Father, why don't you tell me things? You are hiding something." "Yes," said my father; "I am hiding something, and you must never know--never, as long as you live." "Daddy, my heart is broken."