'Yes, papa.'
Lord Findon went up to her and took her hand. She stood with downcast eyes, the other hand playing with the folds of her dress. Her father's face was discomposed.
'Eugénie!' he broke out. 'I don't think he ought to come so much.
Forgive me, dear!'
'You only think what I have thought for a long time,' she said, in a low voice, without raising her eyes. 'But to-day I sent for him.'
'Because?'—Lord Findon's face expressed a quick and tender anxiety.
'I want to persuade him—to marry Elsie Bligh.'
Lord Findon made a hurried exclamation, drew her to him, kissed her on the brow, and then, releasing her, turned away.
'I might have known—what you would do,' he said, in a muffled voice.
'I ought to have done it long ago,' she said, passionately; then, immediately curbing herself, she turned deliberately to a vase of roses that stood near and began to rearrange them, picking out a few faded blooms and throwing them on the wood-fire.
Lord Findon watched her, the delicate, drooping figure in its grey dress, the thin hand among the roses.