"Yes; thank God for an honest man," and she threw herself on my breast.
Mabel looked at us, and walked to the door. "I'll leave you together and go after Cannington. If Dicky's anything of a lover he'll meet me on the road--in his airship, if possible"--and with a laugh to relax the tension of the situation she vanished. Shortly, we heard her open the front door and pass out. Then only did I speak.
"Don't worry, Gertrude. He isn't worth it."
"He's my father, after all," she moaned; "it's terrible to think that he should deceive me so."
"Well, he hasn't done any real harm. He told me that he gave you the whole five hundred a year to yourself, more or less."
"That is not true. He has kept me very short."
"Hang him, he----" I stopped. After all, as she said, the man was her father, and I could not very well speak what was in my mind to his daughter. "Don't think of him any more, Gertrude," I whispered coaxingly. "I have you and you have me. Let us forget him."
"It will be best," she said, drying her eyes, for the ready tears had filled them, and small blame to her. "Do you think papa will come back?"
"No. He will probably stop in the States and marry an heiress."
"Thank God he will not come back," she muttered, half to herself. "I never want to see him in England again."