"Not a bit of it; there are hundreds of other evenings to follow."
"Oh, no," I said; "this is the very last between you and me, quite to ourselves, Daddy."
"I like to hear you say 'Daddy'—you have such a quaint little voice. Do you know, Heather, that when I was—when I was—"
"When you were what, Daddy?"
"Never mind; I was forgetting myself. I have lived through a great deal since you last saw me, child, since that time when you were so ill at Penelope Despard's."
"Weren't you enjoying yourself during those long years in India, Daddy?"
"Enjoying myself? Bless you, the discipline was too severe." Here my father burst out laughing, and then he unfastened my arms from his neck and put me gently down on the sofa and began to pace the room.
"As a wild beast enjoys himself in a cage, so did I, little Heather; but it's over, thank Heaven, it's over; and—oh, dash it!—I can't speak of it! Heather, how do you like your new clothes?"
"I haven't any new clothes," I answered demurely, "except the little black frock you gave me the night I came to you at the Westminster hotel. I put that on every evening because Lady Carrington wears something pretty at dinner-time."
"But what have you done with all your other clothes?"