"Well, you were so horrid, Judith," pouted Florry, playing with her handkerchief; "and Sebastian told me to say nothing."
"He's a bad man!"
"No, he's not," retorted Miss Marson, angrily; "he's a very nice man, and I love him very, very much, in spite of Mr. Spolger—there!"
Judith was about to make some angry reply, feeling thoroughly disgusted at Florry's duplicity, when the door was thrown open, and Mr. Marson entered the room.
A tall, severe-looking man, this Francis Marson, with a worn, worried expression on his face. He sighed wearily as he sat down near the fire.
"Oh, what a sigh—what a big sigh!" cried Florry, recovering her spirits and poising herself on the old man's knee. "What is the matter, papa?"
"Nothing, child, nothing," replied Marson, hastily, smoothing the golden hair of his darling. "Business worries, my dear; what I spoke about the other day."
"Oh!"
Florry drew down the corners of her mouth as if she were going to cry; then, suddenly changing her mind, she threw her arms round her father's neck, and placed her soft face against his withered cheek.
"Don't talk about business, papa," she said, coaxingly; "I hate it; it's so disagreeable."