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The girl’s eyes were dazzled by the sudden gloom she found there. She expected to meet no one, and so it was with a violent start that she saw a man’s figure detach itself from the shadows and come towards her.

“Who is it?” she asked sharply; and then in astonishment: “Why, Dad!”

Her father’s voice answered her, but not with the gruff kindliness to which she was accustomed. It came to her grim and stern, and she knew instinctively that he hated the errand that had brought him.

“I have come down to fetch you,” he said. “I do not approve of your being here alone. It is unusual and quite unnecessary. You are quite well?”

“Yes, I am well,” Priscilla said. “But why should you object to my being here?”

She stood still, facing him. She knew who had inspired this interference, and from the bottom of her soul she resented it. Her father did not answer. Thinking it over calmly later, she knew that he was ashamed.

“Be ready to start from here in half an hour,” he said. “We shall catch the nine-thirty.”

Priscilla made no further protest. Her father had never addressed that tone to her before, and it cut her to the heart.

“Very well,” she said; and turned to go.

Her deep voice held no anger, and only Romeo, pressed close against her, knew that the hand that had just caressed him was clenched and quivering.

VIII

HER SIMPLE DUTY

Priscilla left a hastily scribbled note for Carfax in Froggy’s keeping. In it she explained that she was obliged to go to town, but that she would meet him there any day before noon at any place that he would appoint. Froggy was to be the medium of his communication also.

She made no mention of Carfax to her father. He had hurt her far too deeply for any confidence to be possible. Moreover, it seemed to her that she had no right to speak until Carfax himself gave her leave.

She did not see her stepmother till the following day. The greeting between them was of the coolest, though Lady Raffold, being triumphant, sought to infuse a little sentiment into hers.

“I am really worn out, Priscilla,” she said. “It is my turn now to have a little rest. I am going to leave all the hard work to you. It will be such a relief.”

Three days later, however, she relinquished this attitude. Priscilla was summoned to her room, where she was breakfasting, and found her in great excitement.

“My dear child, he has arrived. He has actually arrived, and is staying at the Ritz. He must come and dine with us to-morrow night. It will be quite an informal affair–only thirty–so it can easily be managed. He must take you in, Priscilla; and, oh, my dear, do remember that it is the great opportunity of your life, and it mustn’t be thrown away, whatever happens! Your father has set his heart upon it.”

“Are you talking about Mr. Cochrane?” asked Priscilla.

“To be sure. Who else? Now don’t put on that far-away look, pray! You know what is, after all, your simple duty, and I trust you mean to do it. You can’t be going to disappoint your father in this matter. And you really must marry soon Priscilla. It is getting serious. In fact, it worries me perpetually. By the way, here is a letter for you from Raffold. It must have got among mine by mistake. Mrs. Burrowes’s handwriting, I imagine.”

She was right. It was directed by Froggy, but Priscilla paled suddenly as she took it, realising that it contained an answer to her own urgent note.

Alone in her own room she opened it. The message was even briefer than hers had been: “Sweetheart,–At 11 A.M., on Thursday, under the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral.–I am thine, J. C.”

Priscilla stood for long seconds with the note in her hand. It had reached her too late. The appointment had been for the day before. She turned to the envelope, and saw that it must have been lying among her stepmother’s correspondence for two days. Doubtless he had waited for her at the trysting-place, and waited in vain.