Then the man left; but if he had only honestly declared his true errand, his reception would have been very different.
What this really was came to light a few days later, when an old and valued friend of the family visited the lighthouse. Grace went forward to greet him with a smile of warm welcome, when she was suddenly chilled by his very grave and cold manner.
"You are not pleased with me? What is the matter?" cried Grace.
But the friend turned to William Darling, and began to expostulate with him.
"I am not surprised that you should be carried away by the stream of admiration which has been lately pouring in upon you," he said, "but I never expected that you would consent to such a thing as this in connection with Batty. Grace might not know better, perhaps, but I cannot think how her father could ever give his consent to her submitting to the degradation of exposing herself in the area of a circus for any idle eyes that please to gaze upon her."
"What do you mean?" cried Mr. Darling, in horror. "I cannot understand you! I have given my consent to nothing of the kind!"
"Have you really done it without your father's permission?" said the friend, turning to Grace.
"I wish you would explain yourself," said she. "I do nothing without first consulting my father, and I am conscious of no wrong now."
"Yes, explain yourself," said Mr. Darling. "No man can be more anxious than I to protect his daughter. Grace never has, and never shall do anything that would compromise her fair fame. I will watch jealously over that."
William Darling felt warmly, and spoke as he felt, and the visitor hastened to explain.