“Well, it’s a bad business, but it has to be faced. I am humiliated and disappointed that Lettice could have behaved so foolishly; but you must not blame yourself, my dear old friend. No one could have done more for the child for the last three years, and I am glad I am here to help you through this difficulty. The young fellow will have to be told that there has been a mistake. I am sorry for him, but it is better now than later on. When did you say you expected Lettice?”
“She may be here at any moment. She was to leave her friends at six o’clock. I thought I heard the door open just now. Perhaps she has arrived.”
Chapter Seventeen.
Lettice is Obstinate.
Miss Carr’s surmise proved correct, for even as she spoke the door opened and Lettice appeared on the threshold. No longer the Lettice of short skirts and flowing locks, but an elegant young lady who swept forward with a rustle of silken skirts, and held up the sweetest pink and white face in the world to receive her father’s kiss of greeting. “Lovely Lettice,” indeed, lovelier than ever in the first bloom of womanhood. As her father held her from him at arm’s length, the slim figure was almost as tall as his own, and the golden head dropped before the grave, scrutinising glance. Lettice knew that her lover had called during her absence, and Miss Carr’s silence, her father’s unusual solemnity, added to her natural nervousness. The grey eyes roved from one face to another with a scared, helpless look which they were quick to understand.
“Yes,” said Mr Bertrand, “we know all about it by this time, Lettice. Mr Newcome has interviewed Miss Carr. She was intensely surprised; I also; but she has had more opportunity of seeing you together, and she tells me that you have shown no special signs of interest in this young fellow. Tell me, my dear—speak frankly, we are only thinking of your happiness—have you allowed yourself to be persuaded against your own judgment? It is a pity if that is the case, but it can be remedied. There is no engagement as yet, and I can easily explain to Mr Newcome that you have made a mistake.”
Lettice had seated herself opposite her father and busied herself pulling off her long suede gloves. She avoided her father’s glance, but the answer came in a little, breathless gasp—“Oh, no, no! I don’t want—”
“No—you say no? Lettice, this is a serious matter. Do you mean to tell me that you love Arthur Newcome, and wish to marry him? Think well, my dear. You know what it means—that you are content to spend your life with this man, to give up everything for him, to say good-bye to friends and relations—”