be pained by me. I would give up
everything--almost" (correcting herself); "I would die rather than make
you unhappy; that would be too wicked!"

She shuddered.

"Does the letter not please you? Must it not go? Must it be torn? It
shall, for your sake, if you order it."

"I order nothing."

"Order something, papa; express your wish; only don't hurt, don't
grieve Graham. I cannot, _cannot_ bear that. I love you, papa; but I
love Graham too--because--because--it is impossible to help it."

"This splendid Graham is a young scamp, Polly--that is my present
notion of him: it will surprise you to hear that, for my part, I do not
love him one whit. Ah! years ago I saw something in that lad's eye I
never quite fathomed--something his mother has not--a depth which
warned a man not to wade into that stream too far; now, suddenly, I
find myself taken over the crown of the head."

"Papa, you don't--you have not fallen in; you are safe on the bank; you
can do as you please; your power is despotic; you can shut me up in a
convent, and break Graham's heart to-morrow, if you choose to be so
cruel. Now, autocrat, now czar, will you do this?"

"Off with him to Siberia, red whiskers and all; I say, I don't like
him, Polly, and I wonder that you should."

"Papa," said she, "do you know you are very naughty? I never saw you
look so disagreeable, so unjust, so almost vindictive before. There is
an expression in your face which does not belong to you."

"Off with him!" pursued Mr. Home, who certainly did look sorely crossed
and annoyed--even a little bitter; "but, I suppose, if he went, Polly
would pack a bundle and run after him; her heart is fairly won--won,
and weaned from her old father."

"Papa, I say it is naughty, it is decidedly wrong, to talk in that way.
I am _not_ weaned from you, and no human being and no mortal influence
_can_ wean me."

"Be married, Polly! Espouse the red whiskers. Cease to be a daughter;
go and be a wife!"

"Red whiskers! I wonder what you mean, papa. You should take care of
prejudice. You sometimes say to me that all the Scotch, your
countrymen, are the victims of prejudice. It is proved now, I think,
when no distinction is to be made between red and deep nut-brown."

"Leave the prejudiced old Scotchman; go away."

She stood looking at him a minute. She wanted to show firmness,
superiority to taunts; knowing her father's character, guessing his few
foibles, she had expected the sort of scene