"It will be much happier for me, Doris, and decidedly better for you. You labor under great disadvantages at present, although I acknowledge your beauty, your grace, and your tact to be perfect; still, you require, before you make your debut in the great world, to spend some little time in the society of a well-trained woman of the world."
She was quick enough to know that this was perfectly true.
"You are right, papa," she said, and the admission pleased him.
"It will also be greatly to your advantage, Doris," he continued. "When you make your debut in the great world, you will find the chaperonage of a lady essential to you. Still, my child, although there are many advantages for you, do not let me mislead you. It is not for your sake I am going to marry; it is for my own, because I really love the lady who will soon, I hope, be Countess of Linleigh."
She made a violent effort to conquer herself. There was nothing to be gained, she knew, by opposition—everything by cheerful acquiescence. She went to him and clasped her arms around his neck, and kissed his face.
"I hope you will be happy, papa," she said—"I hope you will be very happy."
"Thank you," he replied, cheerfully; "I do not doubt it, darling. I think we shall all be happy together. Guess, Doris, who it is that I hope soon to bring here."
"I can't guess, papa. I do not know the ladies of your world."
"You know this one," he said, laughingly, while she, half-frightened, said:
"How can I?"