"I thought you would be horrified," said her father, looking at her with something very like satisfaction. "How could you be anything else? How long have you lived in a French convent? Eight or ten years, is it not? Ah, well, I can't be surprised if you have imbibed the conventional idea of what you would call, I suppose, your class." He gave a little shrug to his broad shoulders. "It can't be helped now. You must make yourself as happy as you can, my poor child, as long as you are here, and console yourself with visions of your happy future at the Courtleroys'."
It was exactly what Lesley intended to do, and yet she felt hurt by the slightly contemptuous pity of his tone.
"I have no doubt that I shall be very happy," she said, steadying her voice as well as she could; "and I hope that you will not concern yourself about me."
"I should not have time to do so if I wished," he answered coolly. "I never concern myself about anything but my proper business, which is not to look after girls of eighteen——"
"Then why did you send for me here?" she asked, with lightning rapidity.
The question seemed to surprise him. He raised his eyebrows as he looked at her.
"That was a family arrangement made many years ago," he answered at last deliberately. "And I think it was a wise one. There is no reason why you should grow up in utter ignorance of your father. And I prefer you to come when you have arrived at something like a reasonable age, rather than when you were quite a child. As you are at a reasonable age, Lesley," with a lightening of his tones, "I suppose you have some tastes, some inclinations, of your own? What are they?"
It must have been obstinacy that prompted Lesley's answer. "I have no taste," she said, looking down. "No inclinations."
"Are you not fond of music?"
"I play a little—a very little."