"She is not at all well, Dad. It was most providential from her point of view that I did return, for she wanted someone to look after her."
"Do you mean to tell me, Heather, that she is in danger?"
"She is better to-day," I answered; "but she was very ill yesterday, very ill indeed, and the doctor was a little frightened, but he is ever so pleased to-day."
"You have been nursing her, then?"
"Yes, I have. But oh, Daddy, I am glad to see you again!"
"And I to see you," was the reply. "A pair of truants out from school—eh, little girl, eh, eh?"
"Yes, Daddy; oh, yes, Daddy."
I slipped my hand inside his arm. I might not have done this if I had been quite certain about that story of Aunt Penelope's; but then I was doubting it more and more each moment. I was firmly convinced that there was not a syllable of truth in it, and I had him quite to myself, and I could soon talk him round with regard to Vernon. Of course, he would not wish me to marry an old man like Lord Hawtrey when there was a young man like Vernon Carbury longing to have me, longing to clasp me to his heart as his true love—his true wife. Daddy was not worldly-minded—of that I was certain.
We walked down the steep hill about which I had got directions from the fat woman, and plunged into the little town.
"I suppose we'd best get to your aunt's at once, child?" said my father.