“Papa, in this I must have my way. It is not often I take my own course; I do everything and go everywhere to please you. You must allow me to please myself for once.”
Mr. West pushed back his chair a full yard, and gazed at his daughter.
“Do not throw any obstacle in my way, papa, nor seek to know where I am going.”
“Ah, ah! Not a lover, I hope, madam?” he gasped. “The curate, the—the drawing-master?”
“No; let that suffice, and let us understand one another, once for all. I have been an obedient daughter to you; I have made sacrifices that you have never dreamt of”—(Ah! the poor curate! thought Mr. West)—“and you must give me more liberty. I am of age to go and come as I please unquestioned. I will do nothing wrong; you may trust me. I can take excellent care of myself, and I must have more freedom.”
“Must, must, must! How many more ‘musts’? Well, at any rate, you are a girl to be trusted, and there is something in what you say. I dare say you have sacrificed some girlish fancy; you have nursed me; you are a credit to me. Yes, and you shall come and go as you please, on the trust-me-all-in-all principle, and the understanding that you do not compromise yourself in any way; but you have your advantages, Madeline—a fine home and position, and everything money can buy. Remember, you will miss the best ball if you start to-night, and the Princess Raggawuffinsky was to call for you. Have you thought of that?”
“Oh!” with a frantic wave of her hand, “what is a ball?”
“Well, well, well! How much cash do you require, and when will you be back?”
“I have plenty of money. If all goes well, I shall be back in a few days—as soon as possible—for the regatta, perhaps.”
And so, with a few more remarks and assurances, and expostulations on Mr. West’s part at her travelling alone, she pocketed a cheque pressed upon her, and left the room victorious.