“Unfeeling girl! After all I have risked on your account—the days and nights of mental anxiety I have endured—the insults I have submitted to from men who formerly were ready to humble themselves before me—after all that I have encountered and borne with for your sake—yes—all—all for you—you are the first to reproach me with my unfortunate failures.”
“Don’t mistake me so, papa; indeed, I did not mean to reproach you!” said Florence, now in tears at his harshness.
“Prove it—prove it!” he answered vehemently. “If you really repent your injustice, sign me a check on the banker with whom the money is deposited.”
She had never actually disobeyed any wish of her father until now, and it was not without a terrible pang that she repeated her refusal.
“I cannot, sir! Forgive me, but I cannot!”
Mr. Heriton struck his forehead with his hand.
“Am I a villain, that my only child refuses to trust me? Go, Florence—leave me; I can bear no more.”
But instead of quitting the room, she threw her arms around his neck, beseeching him to pardon her if she seemed unkind.
“I do not doubt you, my own dear papa. How could I? Are we not all in all to each other? Let me work for you—let me earn money for you! I should be the happiest of the happy if your little comforts were purchased by my exertions. But don’t ask me again for Uncle Blunden’s bequest; I have promised Aunt Margaret that I will not touch it, and you would despise your daughter if she broke her word.”
Mr. Heriton, quivering with passion, put her forcibly from him.