“Why, what’s this?” he cried. “Anything the matter?”
“Yes, Neil, dear,” she said. “I’m in trouble, and I want you to help me.”
“Trouble? Help? Well, what is it, baby?”
“Don’t laugh at me, Neil,” she whispered in a broken voice. “Sir Cheltnam Burwood is coming to dinner.”
“Yes. Aunt has just been to tell me. What of that?”
“What of that?” she cried piteously. “Oh, Neil, dear, you don’t see all this as I do. It is so that he may see and talk to me. It is Aunt’s doing, and she says it is only carrying out poor papa’s wishes.”
“Ah, yes,” he said thoughtfully. “I had almost forgotten that.”
“Forgotten it?” she cried reproachfully. “Oh, Neil!”
“I’m a selfish fellow, little one,” he said, bending down to kiss her, when her arms were flung round his neck, and she buried her face in his breast and burst into tears.
“Come, come, come!” he whispered soothingly; “what is it, Bel darling? There, wipe your eyes and tell me all about it, and let’s see if something cannot be done.”