FATHER AND DAUGHTER
He went to the stables, mounted his cob and ambled all over his
plantation, looking after such work as could only go on at this season of
the year--mending of fences, repair of outbuildings, of agricultural
implements, and so forth.
Then he came back to the house and hung about it in hope of meeting his
daughter.
At length, about noon, he saw her out on the lawn, warmly clothed in her
close-fitting brown cloth coat, and her quaint brown beaver poke bonnet
tied down tightly as if for a walk in the wind on this bright, breezy
December day.
He quickly slipped on his overcoat, snatched his hat and gloves, and
hurried after her.
He overtook her just as she reached the east gate opening upon the path
that led down to the shore.
"'Where are you going, my pretty maid?
Where are you going, my pretty maid?'"
he sang, gayly, as he came up with her.
She started, looked around and recognized her father.
"I am going down to the shore, papa," she answered, as prosaically as if
he had not sung his question. But he was not put down.
"'May I go with you, my pretty maid?
May I go with you, my pretty maid?'"
he continued, taking her hand and drawing it through his arm.
But she was not be won to any frivolity, so she replied, gravely:
"I should be very glad to have you, papa."
"'Why so pale and wan, fond lover?
Why so pale and wan?'"
he continued, in a tone of mock gravity.
"What is the matter with you to-day, papa, dear?" she inquired, uneasily
regarding him.
"Why do you ask? Because I quote old poetry? My dear, it is to convince
you that I am in excellent humor with all the world, and that you have no
cause to complain of me. I do not intend to enact the role of a 'cruel
parent,' in order to make you a persecuted heroine. I do not even intend
to reproach you with your inconstancy!--though I do hope it is not going
to be a chronic complaint!--because it would be embarrassing, for
instance, if while we were in the midst of the preparations for your
wedding with Anglesea, young Herriott, the new minister, were to come and
beg my indulgence to explain to me how you never really cared for the
colonel, but found your salvation depend on your union with him--Herriott!
And by the time we have adapted ourselves to the new situation, young Dr.
Ingle should solicit a private interview and inform me that you----"
"Oh, papa! don't! don't!" exclaimed the girl, almost surprised into a
smile.
"Well, I will 'don't,' until we get down this hill, which is rather
rugged!" said Mr. Force, as he passed his daughter, and went before her
down the declivity, clearing away the branches of tall bushes that crowded
and obstructed the narrow path.
When they reached the foot of the hill he once more gave her his arm, and
they walked along the sands toward the north--Mr. Force purposely taking
that direction, because it was the opposite one from that which led toward
Greenbushes.
"Now, my darling," he continued, "laying all jokes aside, I wished to talk
to you to-day, to assure you that you need not distress yourself, either
about my fancied disappointment or about Le's fancied despair, when he
shall hear of your change of mind."
"Papa----"
"Hear me out, my darling! Hi! look at that rise of blue necks! If Anglesea
were only here with his gun and dogs! He is a famous shot, my dear! Where
was I? Oh! I say, as for myself, I am quite satisfied to receive Anglesea
as my son-in-law. He is of noble race--there is a marquisate in the
family, though too far removed to do him much good, except in the honor of
the connection. He is of moderate fortune, very moderate; but wealth
should not be the first consideration, you know! He is a fine, noble,
generous, chivalrous fellow, and I like and admire him. And more than
this--more than all else, he is my dear daughter's choice, and as such I
shall welcome him into the family circle."
"Oh, papa, papa!" moaned Odalite, pierced through the heart by the thought
of how little her father knew of the real character of the man, the real
circumstances of the case, and how impossible it was for her to enlighten
him.
"Still so grave, my little one? It is of Leonidas you are thinking! Do not
fret your tender heart about him, my darling girl! If you, after three
years separation from your boyish lover, have changed toward him--of
which, in your secluded home, there was about one chance in a hundred of
your doing--be sure that he, in his long absence from his childish
sweetheart, on his long cruise around the world, has half forgotten the
baby girl he left behind--as there must have been a hundred chances to one
that he would. I think he will in time be able to console himself with
your sister. It is all in the family, you know!" he said, looking down
quizzically at the young face by his side.
But, somehow, the expression of that face did not convey the idea of any
great satisfaction. Quite the contrary. Odalite looked ready to cry.
"I do believe girls, with their lovers, are like dogs in the manger; they
can't marry them all, and yet they are not willing that any other girl
should have any of the rejected ones! Sweet angel!--the girl of the
nineteenth century!"
"I do not think," murmured Odalite, breaking in upon her father's silent
criticism--"I do not think, judging from Le's letters, that he has ever
changed toward me. No, papa, I do not wish to justify myself by accusing
Le."
"Le's letters, my dear! Why, they afford the strongest proofs to my mind
that he is not, and never has been, the least bit in love with you."
Odalite looked up in surprise.
"My dear, you have no experience, or you would never mistake Le's
practical epistles for love letters. Why, you let all the family read
them! You could not if they were love letters."
"Why, papa?"
"Because, my dear, if they were, they would be much too silly to be shown.
You would not think so; but you would have sense enough left to know that
other people would; and so you would hide them. But Le's letters are
laudably practical and fit to be shown to a deacon, as, for instance,
this:
"'Tell Beever he can stay on as overseer as long as you please; so he must
look out and please you. Tell him I don't know anything about the relative
merits of Durham or Alderney breeds of cattle, or Southdown sheep, or
anything of that sort. I took my degree at a naval academy, not at an
agricultural college. So you just buy what stock you like best, and if you
don't know any better than I do, ask your father. He does.'
"That's the sort of love letters Le writes to you, my dear! A letter that
he might have written to his attorney or to his overseer!"
"And yet, showing in every line, in every word, his constant consideration
for me, his wish to defer everything to me," sighed Odalite.
"Showing the carelessness of the sailor, rather than the devotion of the
lover! But look you here, my little girl! How is this? Grieving--actually
grieving for Le, while you are loving and engaging to marry Anglesea? I do
not understand it!"
"Oh, papa! It is only that I wish to be just to Le! And I wish you to be
just to him. However you may blame my fickleness, do not blame him; he has
not changed!"
"Tut, tut, my dear! Young naval officers sailing all over the world,
seeing all sorts of beautiful and attractive women of all races and
nations, do not break their hearts about little, childish sweethearts left
in their country homes, and whom they have not seen for years! Midshipman
Leonidas Force, if he aspires to marry one of my daughters, must put up
with the second Miss Force! Ay, and must wait until she is of suitable
age! Now let us talk about the wedding! The colonel--he is something like
a lover!--wants it to come off as soon as may be, before Christmas, if
possible! What do you say, my dear?" inquired the squire, just to divert
his daughter's mind from what he considered a morbid and painful
compassion for the discarded lover's wrongs.
"It shall be just as my mother pleases, sir! I should like to leave
everything to her," replied Odalite.
"That is quite right. The mother is the proper one, of course. Well, talk
to her, my precious, and whatever arrangements you two agree upon I shall
indorse. It seems to be clouding up. I should not wonder if we were to
have snow before night. Shall we turn homeward?"
"Yes, if you please, papa."
"Oh! look at those wild turkeys! What a splendid chance for a shot, if I
only had my fowling piece. Strange that I only have such chances when I
have no gun--and consequently no chance at all!" laughed the squire, as
they turned to go up the hill.
They reached the house just as the first fine flakes of snow began to
fall.
"It will be a white Christmas, with fine sleighing, after all, perhaps,"
said the squire, cheerily, as they entered the house.
"Dinner has been waiting full half an hour, papa. And I would like to know
where you and Odalite have been gadding to without saying a word to
anybody. And I would like also to know--oh! how I should like to
know--what has come to everybody in the house, that nobody but Elva and I
and Miss Meeke have any common sense left!" exclaimed Wynnette, meeting
the returning couple.
"Whereas the simple and exact truth is, that you three are the real and
only lunatics in the house, and, like all lunatics, think everybody else
but yourselves mad," laughed the squire, as he led his eldest daughter
straight to the dining room.