I spoke exactly as I used to do when I was a little child. I took his hand and drew him imperiously outside the door.

"Father," I whispered, "Lord Hawtrey did--oh, very, very kindly, too--he _did_ ask me last night to marry him, and oh! he was most good--but, darlingest Daddy, I could not marry him, for I do not love him one bit--I mean, not that way, Daddy. Why, Daddy, he is old enough to be my father, and I only want one father, and you are he; but I do--yes, I do care for Vernon Carbury. Please, please, father, think of our great unhappiness if we are parted, and of our wonderful joy if you allow us to be engaged to each other!"

"I will do my utmost, my poor little one--my utmost," he answered.

"Gordon, we are waiting for you," said Lady Helen's hard voice, and then he wrenched my hands away from his neck, and returned to the room where Lady Helen and my lover were to fight a battle for me. Oh, if only father would be strong and take my part!

I ran up to my room and flung myself on my bed. Morris knocked at the door, but I told her to go away; I did not want her then; I did not want the flowers I had bought that morning. Flowers, love, sunshine; the joys of G.o.d's earth would all be as ashes in my mouth if my hero were banished. They were discussing me downstairs; they were tearing my love from me--oh, I could not bear it! My heart began to beat so fast that I could scarcely endure the thumping sensation which was going through my body. I longed to sleep, just because in sleep I might forget; I wanted the minutes to pa.s.s quickly.

Suddenly I sat up; I began listening intently. In my distant bedroom I could hear no sound of what went on in the downstairs rooms. I flew to the window and opened it. Oh, he would not go away--he would see me, whatever happened he would see me--it would be impossible for him to go away without seeing me! Yes, we were made for each other, for was I not in his secret gallery of heroes, and was not he in mine? And could any mere human creature divide us? I thought of Lady Helen, with her hard, cruel face, and of my father. Father loved me, and I told him quite distinctly what I wanted, and I believe that he understood. Had he not always loved his own little Heather? Oh, it must be all right!

Just then I heard, far away, like a distant sort of echo in the house, a door bang. Once again I rushed to the window--I did not mind who saw me--I opened it wide at the top, and put my head out. Captain Carbury was walking quickly down the street. Would he, by any possibility, look back? Would that invisible link between us cause him to raise his eyes until he saw my face? Would he look back, and look up? He did neither.

At the first corner he abruptly turned, and was lost to view.

"She has done it!" I said to myself. "Oh, how deeply I hate her! But I will never marry Lord Hawtrey, and I will marry Vernon--I will--for I love him with all my heart and soul!"

The depth of my feelings, and the wildness of my anger, gave me courage.

I rushed downstairs. I had the free run of every part of the house, except Lady Helen's boudoir; that door was shut. I was never expected to go in without knocking; I knocked now in frantic haste. A voice--a cold, surprised voice--said:

"Who is there?"

I repeated to myself the words "Who is there?" and the thought occurred to me that I should not be allowed to enter. They would shut me out, just as surely as they had torn me from the arms of the man I loved, so would they now--my father and Lady Helen--shut me from their consultations. I opened the door, therefore, and went boldly in.

"You can see the person who was outside the door," I said, and then I walked straight up to my father, who was lying back in a deep chair, his legs crossed one over the other, his head resting against the back of the chair; his face was perturbed, and very red, his blue eyes bright.

Lady Helen, on the contrary, was standing. She had a fan in her hand, and with it she was fanning her hot face. Why were they both so hot and indignant? Why did they look for all the world as though each hated the other?

"I want to know," I said, "and I _will_ know, what you have done with Vernon Carbury."

There was no response whatever to my question. It was received with deep and surprised silence by both my stepmother and my father. Then my father turned, looked at me, blinked his eyes a trifle, and, putting his hand out, drew me down to sit on the edge of his chair.

"If, Gordon," said my stepmother, "you mean to make a fool of yourself over that most troublesome, refractory, and good-for-nothing girl, I will leave you with her. If you listen to her sentimental and silly remarks, I can at least go and rest in my room; but clearly understand what my view of this business is."

"I have not uttered a word, Helen," replied my father.

"Uttered!" said Lady Helen, a volume of scorn in her voice; "have not your eyes spoken, has not your hand spoken, has not your action spoken?

That girl dares to come into my private room uninvited, and you encourage her."

"I have come to ask about Captain Carbury," I said. "He is mine, and I want to know everything about him. Where is he--what have you done with him--have you sent him away? Why did he go away without speaking to me?

I tell you he is mine. I _will_ see him."

Lady Helen suddenly changed her manner. She sank into a chair and burst out laughing.

"Gordon," she said, without taking the least notice of me, "may I venture to inquire the exact age of this little spitfire?"

"How old are you, p.u.s.s.y?" inquired my father.

"As if that mattered!" I said. "I am a hundred years old, as far as feelings go."

"But as far as the law goes," said Lady Helen, "I think, my dear, you will find that you are eighteen, and therefore a minor, and therefore unable to marry without the consent of your father and your stepmother.

You will find that such is the case, Heather; you had better understand this at once."

"Very well," I answered, "if that is really the law, and you won't give your consent--you, who are no relation to me at all--and if father won't give his consent, although he is a very near relation, then I shall do this: I shall wait until I am twenty-one; I know Vernon will wait, and then we will marry."

Lady Helen laughed again.

"You poor, silly, fickle child!" she said. "Don't you know perfectly well that you will fall in and out of love perhaps twenty times between now and the day that sees you of age? And don't you know, also, that Captain Carbury will do precisely the same? Has he not himself confessed as much? He was engaged to a girl who was fifty times a better match for him than you a few weeks ago; he is tired of her now; he and she have willingly broken off the engagement. For my part, I congratulate Lady Dorothy. I would not have anything to do with that fickle sort of man, not if he were to buy me a kingdom. And, mark my words, Heather, as surely as Vernon Carbury imagines that he cares for you at this moment, so surely will he forget you and turn his b.u.t.terfly thoughts to someone else, when he meets a fairer face than yours. It is perfectly safe to give you leave to wait until you are twenty-one, for long before then, whatever you may choose to do--although I expect no strength about you, nor constancy, nor any of those so-called virtues--young Carbury himself will be married."

"No, no, you are not to say it!" I answered. "Father, may I speak to you by yourself? Father, darling, may I?"

"Your father is going out with me," said Lady Helen. "He is tired, and not very well, and I mean that we shall both motor into the country; we may be away even for to-night--there's no saying. We did not intend to tell you our position with regard to that exceedingly foolish and rash young man, until our return; but as you burst uninvited into my room, I may as well have it out, and then you will know how to act. Captain Carbury proposed for you, telling us the usual sort of nonsense that young men will speak on these occasions, and our answer to him was quite emphatic. We denied him admission to the house; we refused to entertain for a single moment the idea of your marrying him. We told him plainly that we had other views for you, and that nothing that he could say would get us to change them."

"Did you tell him what those views were?" I asked.

"Yes," said Lady Helen, "we did. We told him that Lord Hawtrey of Leigh, one of the best matches in London at present, had honoured you with a proposal of marriage, and that you would be his wife before the year was out."

I looked at Lady Helen while she was speaking; then I put my arms round my father's neck, and hid my face on his shoulder. He began to pat me with his big hand softly on my arm. He said, in a very low tone, "Hush, now, sweetheart; hush, now. Things will come right in the end."

But I could not listen. Lady Helen went on talking; I did not listen to her either. I was distressed beyond measure; I was distracted at what had happened. Lady Helen got up; she spoke very quietly:

"I will leave you two," she said. "Gordon, I shall expect you to be ready for our drive in half an hour's time; meanwhile, you may pet your daughter as much as you please--perhaps you can tell her one or two things which will change her opinion of me. Meanwhile, I shall go to my room and rest."

She swept out of the room; I heard the rustle of her silk petticoats.

When the door closed behind her I raised my tear-dimmed face:

"Daddy, Daddy," I said, "she can't dispose of me like that--she can't take the man I love away, Daddy, and make me marry against my will a man I don't like! Oh, darling, it isn't possible, is it?"

"You shan't marry Hawtrey against your will--I promise you that," said my father.

"Then, Daddy, it's all right, because I refused him last night--I refused him absolutely. He will never ask me again."

"I think it likely that he will ask you many times, poor child."

"He mustn't--he shan't! I won't see him."

"Heather, listen to me. Sit up; don't give way. It cuts me to the heart to deny you anything, and I fully believe that Carbury is all right and as straight as possible. A gallant soldier, child--yes, a gallant soldier. Mark my words, there are no men in all the world like soldiers, Heather; they are the pick of the earth--so brave, so honourable, so true. That's what Carbury is, and if he were rich and in the same position as Hawtrey, you should be his wife with all the pleasure in the world. But, Heather, my poor little girl, I can't fight against such long odds. I could once, but, child, I am a broken man, a broken man, and I can't withstand her. She has got me into a sort of trap. She pretends she's done everything in the world for me; I was mad enough--oh! I won't speak of that--I am her husband now, and I suppose most people would think that I'd done well for myself--they'd revel in the contrast between my life of late and my life now, and say 'That beggar Grayson'--but there! I won't speak of it."

"Daddy--has--Lady Helen--got ... I don't like to say--has she got a ...

I mean, Daddy, are you a little--_tiny_ bit--you, a brave soldier--a little, tiny bit afraid of her?"

"Afraid!" said my father. "Poof! not a bit of it. It is she who has cause to be afraid of me. I could--and, as there is a heaven above us, I will, too--frighten her into giving me some of my own way; yes, and I will, if she doesn't act fair by you, little girl."

"Father, why don't you tell me things? You are hiding something."

"Yes," said my father; "I am hiding something, and you must never know--never, as long as you live."

"Daddy, my heart is broken."

"Poor little maid! But you will get over it. And now I have something else to say. Lady Helen is not at all bad, and you would be extremely happy as Hawtrey's wife; he's a bit old, but he's a thorough gentleman, and you'd be very rich, and Helen would deal handsomely by you--she's promised that. She's very rich, too; I wish she wasn't. There's nothing in the world more hateful than depending upon your wife's money, and that's my cursed position. But if you promised to marry Hawtrey, she'd make things a bit square for you; she's settled to do that. It's awfully kind of her; it's downright generous; it's more than most people would expect. She'd do it in her lifetime, too; she'd settle twenty thousand on you--think of that, little Heather--twenty thousand is not to be despised."