"I'm very glad," he said cordially. "Very rich—is he? And what's he going to do with all his money?"
"He thought first of me; one might know he would do that," she said proudly. "He's taken a house in the country—and he's going to take me down there—and of course Aubrey."
"Oh—so Aubrey's going—is he?" said Gilbert slowly. "Anybody else?"
"I was only thinking, Mr. Byfield," she said shyly—"I was only thinking that we should be glad if you would come down. I know father would like it—and so should I. It's at Fiddler's Green."
"I shall be delighted," he exclaimed, smiling at the thought of this strange invitation to his own place. "And I suppose you're going to stop there until you're quite well and strong again—eh? You'll be sorry to come back to Arcadia Street."
"But we're not coming back to Arcadia Street," she assured him. "Father's going to give it all up; we're going to live down there for ever. Think of it—in the country!"
The friendly darkness hid his bewildered face; he wondered what new blunder Daniel Meggison had plunged them all into. Even as that thought came to him the door at the end of the garden was opened, and old Meggison came in. He was singing to himself in a high cracked falsetto, and the hand that was not required to support him against the edge of the door was solemnly beating time to the tune. He closed the door, and leant against it; stared with drunken sternness at his daughter.
"Whash this?" he demanded. "Go in, m' child; go t' bed. Object mos' strongly—endanger precious life. Go t' bed!"
Bessie went in quickly, and her father, after a preliminary stagger, essayed to follow her. He was pulled up quickly by the stern hurried voice of Gilbert Byfield.
"What have you been telling her?" demanded the young man.