She walked with him to the door of the ball-room. The crowd was too great for dancing, and her guests were parading four abreast, until she should give the signal and march at their head to supper. Inside the doorway her father was standing in the robes of John, first baron, Lord High Chancellor of England. She went up to him and slipped her arm through his.
"Am I forgiven, father?" she asked with a smile. "You know how I hate people to be angry with me."
"It's all very well to ask for forgiveness when you've got your own way," said Lord Crawleigh with a vengeful tug at his blonde moustache.
"But, if I want my own way, haven't I inherited that from you?" she asked gently. "It's no good trying to bully me, because I won't be bullied. You admit now that there was nothing very sinful in this ball?"
"I didn't say it was sinful," Lord Crawleigh returned sharply. "I said that such a thing had never been done before. There was no precedent."
"But every one will do it now!" she cried proudly. "That you won't see, father; I establish precedents."
"I don't see it and I won't see it."
Barbara sighed and looked down on him with half-closed eyes and drooping mouth.
"Don't you like to see me happy, father? Won't you kiss me and say I'm forgiven?"
Lord Crawleigh stiffened and drew away, as Loring came up from behind, pushing open his visor.