Wild Heather. Meade L. T.

have to take her if you want to keep me, and that's the long and short of it."

      I trembled all over; my hero of heroes – was he tumbling from his place in my gallery?

      "Promise, child, promise," said my father, brusquely.

      "Will it make you happy if I do?" I said.

      "Yes. I'll call you my little duck of all girls – I'll love you like anything, but we three must be harmonious. You will stay here until we come back, and on the day we come back you are to be in the new house to meet us, and you are to wear one of your pretty frocks, and you are to do just what she says. It's your own fault, Heather, that I have to bring in her name so often. Bless her, though, the jewel she is! My little love, we'll be as happy as the day is long. It's terribly old-fashioned, it's low down, to abuse stepmothers now – don't you understand that, Heather?"

      "I don't," I answered. "I suppose I must do what you wish, for I cannot live without you, but if – if – I find it quite past bearing – may I go back to Aunt Penelope?"

      "Bless me, you won't find it past bearing! We need not contemplate such an emergency."

      "But, promise me, Daddy darling – if I do find it past bearing, may I go back to Aunt Penelope?"

      "Oh, yes, yes, yes – anything to quiet you, child. You are just the most fractious and selfish creature I ever came across. You don't seem to realise for a single minute what anybody else is feeling."

      "It's settled, and I will try to be happy," I said.

      "That's right. Now, let's talk of all sorts of funny things. I haven't half heard about your different Jonases, nor about the parrot, who would only say, 'Stop knocking at the door!'"

      "Daddy," I said, with great earnestness, "may I have Anastasia back? It would give me great, great help if she came back."

      "Bless me!" said my father, rubbing his red face, "I must ask her ladyship. I'll see about it; I'll see about it, little woman. Now, then, stand up and let me look at you."

      I stood up. I was wearing my snuff-coloured dress, and the electric light and the firelight mingled, fell over a desolate, forlorn, little figure.

      "Run upstairs this minute, Heather, and put on one of your pretty frocks. I know for a certainty they haven't gone back, because I told Lady Carrington she was to keep them. Find a servant who can tell you where they are, and put one on, and come down and let me see you in it."

      He smiled at me. Surely there never was anyone with such a bewitching smile. You felt that you would cut your heart out to help him when he gave you that smile, that you would lie down at his feet to be trampled on when he looked at you with that expression in his bright blue eyes.

      I went upstairs very slowly. Lady Carrington's maid happened to be in, and I said to her, in a forlorn voice:

      "I want one of my pretty new frocks. May I have it?"

      The woman gave me a lightning glance of approval, and presently I was dressed in softest, palest, shimmering grey, which fell in long folds around my young person. I held it up daintily, and ran downstairs.

      "There's my rose in June!" said father, and he came and took me in his arms. He chatted in his old fashion after that, but he went away before Lady Carrington returned from church. She came back, accompanied by Captain Carbury. I was in the drawing-room then, and there was plenty of colour in my cheeks, for father's visit had excited me a great deal. Captain Carbury gave me a wistful glance and drew a chair near mine.

      "Do you know what I was thinking of?" he said, suddenly.

      "What?" I asked.

      "That it would be very nice after the wedding to-morrow – "

      I shivered, and clutched my chair to keep myself from falling. I felt his dark eyes fixed on my face.

      "After the ceremony to-morrow," he continued, "if you and Lady Carrington and I went to Hampton Court to spend the day. We will go down in my motor-car, come back afterwards and dine in town, and then go to the theatre. What do you think? I know Lady Carrington is quite agreeable."

      "Do you want me to go, Captain Carbury?"

      "Yes, I want you very much."

      "Well, I will do it, if it pleases you," I said.

      He looked steadily at me, then he bent forward – he dropped his voice.

      "I, too, have a gallery," he said, "in which I place, not my famous heroes, but my famous heroines, and just at this moment, when you gave up your real will to mine and – forgot yourself – I put you in."

      "Oh, thank you," I said, and my eyes brimmed with tears.

      Captain Carbury went away early, and after he had gone Lady Carrington sat down by my side and began to talk to me.

      "You and he are famous friends," she said, "and I am so glad. Perhaps I ought to tell you, however, that Vernon is engaged to a most charming girl. I know he will want you to meet her – they are to be married next summer."

      "Oh, I hope she is good enough for him."

      "I hope so also. Her name is Lady Dorothy Vinguard. She is beautiful and – and rich – and her people live in a lovely place in Surrey."

      Suddenly a memory flashed through my mind.

      I asked a question:

      "Why did father say he would not meet Captain Carbury to-night at supper?" I said.

      Lady Carrington coloured. She got up and poked the fire quite vigorously.

      "Why are you getting so red?" I said. "Why would not father meet him?"

      "You see, he is an army man," answered Lady Carrington.

      "But that has nothing to do with it," I replied. "Father's in the army, too."

      "Don't ask so many questions, Heather."

      "Has father a reason for not wanting to see him?"

      "He may have, dear, but if he has I cannot tell you."

      "That means you won't," I replied.

      "Very well – I won't."

      CHAPTER VIII

      Lady Carrington and I went to St. Margaret's, Westminster, to see my father married to Lady Helen Dalrymple. I had never witnessed a marriage ceremony before, and thought it a very dull and dreary affair. My ideas with regard to a bride had always been that she must be exceedingly young and very beautiful, and now, when I saw Lady Helen, all drooping and fragile, and in my opinion quite old, not even her beautiful Honiton lace veil, nor her exquisite dress of some shimmering material, appealed to me in the very least. It was with difficulty I could keep the tears out of my eyes by fixing them firmly on the back of my father's head. I noticed again how bald he was getting, but then his shoulders were very broad, and he did not stoop in the least, and he had a splendid manly sort of air. As I listened to the marriage service, I could not help thinking of that other time, ages ago in his life, when he took my young mother to wife, my mother who had died when I was a baby. He was young then, and so was the bride – oh, I had no sympathy with his second marriage!

      Lady Carrington insisted on my wearing a white dress, and when the ceremony was over, we all went to the Westminster hotel, where there were light refreshments, and tea and coffee, and champagne, which I hated, and would only take in the smallest sips. By and by, Lady Helen went upstairs to change her dress. She came down again in a magnificent "creation" – for that was the word I heard the ladies around me describing it by – and a huge picture hat on her head. She kissed me once or twice at the very last moment, and told me to be a good child. I hated kisses as much as I hated her, but father, dear father, made up for everything. He caught me in his arms and squeezed me tightly to his breast, and said: "God for ever bless you, dear little woman!" and then they went away, and Lady Carrington and I gazed at each other.

      "Now, my dear Heather," she said cheerfully, "we are going to motor back to my house in order to change our dresses, so as to be in time for Captain Carbury when he brings his car round for us. You remember, dear, that we are going to Hampton Court to-day, and we haven't