“No, indeed, I do not; yet if it should have to be done, I should be still more unwilling to trust it to any one else.”
“Is the gentleman an Italian, papa?” she asked.
“No; he is an Englishman.”
“I wonder if that’s any better?” sighed Lulu. “Professor Manton’s an Englishman and I can’t bear him.”
“Hush, hush. I do not like to hear you talk in that way,” said her father. “You may go now and amuse yourself as you please till dinner time.”
“I don’t care to; I’ve lost all my spirits,” she sighed dolefully. “O papa, do please change your mind.”
“My dear child, it is too late, even if I thought best to do so—which I do not—for I have made the engagement and can not honorably retreat from it.”
“Oh dear,” she groaned, “don’t you think it would have been kinder if you had consulted me first?”
“No; not unless it were kinder to consider your present wishes rather than your future interests,” he answered gravely, though there was a slight twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “What is the use of my little girl having a father if she is so wise that she knows better than he what is best for her?”
“But I’m not; and oh, I wouldn’t be without a father for all the world!” she exclaimed, clinging about his neck again, and pressing her lips to his cheek.