"It's too late to-day, miss," said Buttons, "but you can come out walking with me to-morrow and we can get it then." I laughed. "I can get it in London, I expect," I said. "London's a great big place. Oh, I do hope," I continued, "that I haven't been keeping darling Daddy waiting!" When Buttons opened the little gate of Hill View I ran up the neatly-kept avenue and pounded with my hands on the glass panels of the door. It was Aunt Penelope herself who opened it. "Where's Daddy?" I said. "Am I late? Oh, I hope I am not! And has Anastasia come?" Aunt Penelope looked quite gentle. She took my hand and led me into the drawing-room. The drawing-room was bigger than the dining-room, but was still a very tiny room. "Now, Heather," she said, "I have something to say to you." "Where's Daddy? I want Daddy," I said. "Where is he?" I began to tremble for fear of I did not know what. The terror of something hitherto unknown came over me. "He sent you his best love and his good-bye, and he will come and see you again before he sails." Aunt Penelope tried to speak kindly, although she had not by nature a kind voice. I stared at her with all my might and main. "He went away without me?" I said. "He had to, dear. Now, Heather, I can quite understand that this is a trial for you, but you've got to bear it. Your father will come and see you again before he returns to India, and meanwhile you are my little girl and will live with me." I stood perfectly still, as though I were turned into stone. Aunt Penelope put out her hand to touch me, and just at that moment the parrot cried, "Stop knocking at the door!" Aunt Penelope tried to draw me towards her, she tried to lift me on to her knee. "Come," she said, "come--be a good little girl. I shall try to be good to you." I raised my hand and slapped her with extreme violence on the face. "I hate you and all aunts, and I will never, never be good to you or to anyone!" And then, somehow or other, I think I lost consciousness, for I cannot remember, even after this lapse of years, what immediately followed. CHAPTER III The next thing that I recall was also connected with that most terrible day. I was lying on a tiny bed, a sort of cot bed, in a very small room. There was a fire about the size of a pocket-handkerchief burning in the wee-est grate I have ever looked at. A woman was sitting by the fire with her back to me, the woman was knitting and moving her hands very rapidly. She wore a little cap on her head with long black lappets to it. I noticed how ugly the cap was and how ugly the woman herself looked as she sat and knitted by the fire. I suppose some little movement on my part caused her to turn round, for she came towards me and then I observed that it was Aunt Penelope. "That's a good girl," she said; "you are better now, Heather."