"Oh, pooh, pooh, nonsense, my pet," he cried, looking at her beautiful pensive face proudly; "don't mind that; I'm glad of it." "Glad, father?" "No, no, not to lose you, my darling, but for you to go away with the man you love and who loves you. I hate him for taking you, but he is a splendid fellow, Myra. What a sailor he would have made!" "Yes, father." "If they had not spoiled him by getting all that natural history stuff in his head. But I say, my darling," he continued as he held his child at arm's length, admiring her, but pushing up his hand. "Yes, dear?" "Isn't this a little too--too punctilious? Very lovely, dear; you look all that a man could wish for, but it's a wedding, my pet, and you--you do not quite look like a bride." "What do the looks matter?" she said with a dreamy look in her large eyes. "Well, I don't know. Woman ought to please her husband, and isn't it a mistake to dress--well, to parade that nonsense about your being a widow." "Nonsense, dear?" said Myra, smiling sadly. "It was no nonsense. Whatever that man may have been I swore at the altar to be his faithful wife." "Till death did you part, eh? Yes, yes, yes," said the admiral testily, "but he's dead and gone and forgotten; there is no need to dig him up again." "Papa!" "Well, I mean by going to what will be a real wedding in half mourning." "Malcolm agreed that I was right, dear." "Oh, then I'm wrong. Only, if I had known, I should have put my foot down--hard. Why, even Edie was hinting at it just now." "Let the past rest, dear," said Myra gently. "After this morning--yes, my darling. But I always feel as if I ought to apologise to you, Myra." "No, no, dear." "But I say yes. The clever, plausible scoundrel dazzled me, and I thought your opposition only maidenly shrinking. Yes, dazzled me, with his wit and cheery manners, knowledge of the world, and such a game, too, as he played at piquet. It was ashore, you see, and he was too much for me. If I'd had him at sea it would have been different. I was to blame all through--but you forgive me all the misery I caused you?" "My dear father!" "Ah, there I am crushing your dress again. Stratton's a lucky dog, and we'll think it was all for the best." "Of course, dear." "Showed what a good true-hearted fellow he was--sort of probationer, eh?" Myra turned her head. She could not speak--only clung to the parent she was so soon to leave. "Then good-bye to James Barron, alias Dale, and all his works, Myra. Oh, dear me! In a very short time it will be Mrs Malcolm Stratton, and I shall be all alone." "No, you will not, uncle," said Edie, who had entered unobserved after letting off a fusillade of sobs outside the door, and her pretty grey eyes a little redder, "and you are not to talk like that to Myra; she wants comforting. Uncle will not be alone, dear, for I shall do all I can to make him happy."