"Well," I continued, "the house did not please me nor the people who came to it, and I hardly ever saw father, and I lived my own life. Lady Carrington was very kind to me, and I went to her when I could, but my stepmother was impatient, and did not want me to spend my time with her, and she put obstacles in the way, so that I could not see my kind friend very often. Still, I had no idea of deserting father and of going back to you; the thought of returning to you only came to me to-day--to-day, when I was in awful agony. Oh, auntie, dear, I can put it into a few words. I have met--I have met at Lady Carrington's house one----" "You're in love, child," said Aunt Penelope. "I might have guessed it, it is the way of most women. I had half hoped that you'd escape. I never fell in love--I would not let myself." "Oh, but if the right man came along, you could not help it," I replied. "Then you think he is the right man--you have found your Mr. Right?" "Yes, I have found the one whom I love with all my heart and soul; he is good. You would love him, too--but there's another man----" "Two! God bless me!" said Aunt Penelope. "In my day a girl thought herself lucky if she found one man to care for her, but two! It doesn't sound proper." "The other man is rich, and--oh, he's nice, he's awfully nice, only he is old--I won't tell you his name, there is no use--but Lady Helen wanted me to marry the rich old man, and to give up the young man whom I love, and--and father seemed to wish it, too--and somehow, auntie darling, I can't do it--I can't--so I have run away to you." "Where you will stay," said my aunt, speaking in a firm and cheery voice, "until the Lord wills to show me clearly the right in this matter. You marry an old man whom you don't love, my sister's child exposed to such torture as that!--child, I am glad you came to me, you anyway showed a gleam of common sense." "And you have taken me in," I answered, "and I'm ever so happy; it is home to be back with you." Thus ended my first evening with Aunt Penelope. That night I slept again in my little old bed in my tiny chamber, and so kindly do we revert to the old times and to the things of youth that I felt more at home in that little bed and slept sounder there than I had done since I left it. I had gone out into the world, and the world had treated me badly. I was not destined, however, to stay long in peace and quietness at Aunt Penelope's. On the very next day there arrived a letter from my father. I recognised the handwriting, and as I carried Aunt Penelope up her tea and toast and her lightly-boiled fresh egg, I took the letter also, guessing in my heart of hearts what its contents were. "Here is a letter from father, auntie," I said.