His left arm encircled her waist, he put his right hand under her chin and lifted her face so that it was fully exposed to his view.
“Now look up at me and tell me what you wish. Why should you desire to hide a thought from the father who loves you as his own soul?”
“Only because—because I’m ashamed, papa. It’s just that I—I wish you wouldn’t make me learn Latin.”
With the last word she turned and hid her blushing face on his breast.
He did not speak for a minute or more.
“Please don’t be vexed with me, papa,” Elsie said, with tears in her voice.
“No, daughter,” he answered gravely, “but I see that if I would consult my child’s best interests I must content myself to leave some of her wishes ungratified. You are not old enough or wise enough to choose for yourself in such matters. And I am sorry that you are not quite willing to submit to my guidance and authority.”
“Don’t be sorry, papa! I will be good about it after this, indeed I will!” she said, with earnest entreaty, looking up into his face with eyes full of tears. “I’m glad I have a papa who loves me well enough to always do what he knows is best for me, even when I am so naughty as to—to not want to do as he says.”
Rose came in at that moment, and Mr. Dinsmore’s only answer to his little girl was a silent caress.
She came to him the next morning, before breakfast, her face beaming with satisfaction, her Latin grammar in her hand.