“Pooh! Nonsense! Robert Mason is no Puritan, but he’s a remarkably clever fellow; a citizen of the world, child, with a marvelous faculty for business. He is the secretary of a company that is the most prosperous and best-managed one in London.”
“Indeed, sir?” said Florence doubtfully.
“Yes,” he sharply retorted. “Why do you speak in that sneering, unladylike tone? Do you think I am an idiot to be duped by any tale I hear? Am I not old enough and experienced enough to judge for myself whether it is so? I tell you Lieutenant Mason is a clever man, and my very good friend. How dare you doubt my word!”
“Forgive me, papa; I did not mean to vex you,” pleaded Florence tearfully.
He softened as he saw her regret.
“You are a silly child. My sister Margaret has infected you with her own suspicious disposition. My pretty Floy,” he added fondly, “my only blessing—is it not for you that I strive to regain our lost wealth? Shall I ever be happy until I have restored to you your inheritance?”
Florence slid down on her knees beside him.
“Papa, don’t think of it—don’t strive for what I have freely yielded. Only love me, and let me work for you, and I ask nothing else.”
He kissed her forehead.
“Pooh, you foolish little thing! You don’t know what you are talking about. Our prospects are brightening, and ere long we shall buy back the priory, and my daughter shall keep open house there to all comers to celebrate our return.”