e Caspar Brooke was sitting, writing hard, as if for dear
life, his loose hair falling heavily over his big forehead, his left
hand grasping his thick brown beard. He looked up as Lesley entered, and
gave her a nod.

"Good-morning," he said. "Wait a minute: I must finish this and send it
off by the quarter to three post. I have just done."

He went on writing, and Lesley stood motionless beside the table, with a
feeling of dire offence in her proud young heart. Why had he sent for
her if he did not want her? She was half inclined to walk away without
another word. Only a sense of filial duty restrained her. She thought to
herself that she had never been treated so unceremoniously--even in her
earliest days at school. And she was surprised to find that so small a
thing could ruffle her so much. She had hardly known at the convent, or
while visiting her mother, that she had such a thing as a "temper." It
suddenly occurred to her now that her temper was very bad indeed.

And in truth she had a hot, strong temper--very like her father's, if
she had but known it--and a will that was prone to dominate, not to
submit itself to others. These were facts that she had yet to learn.

"Well, Lesley," said Caspar Brooke, laying down his pen, "I have
finished my work at last. Now we can talk."

CHAPTER VII.

FRIENDS AND FOES.

Something in the slightly mutinous expression of Lesley's face seemed to
strike her father. He looked at her fixedly for a minute or two, then
smiled a little, and began to busy himself amongst his papers.

"You are very like your mother," he said.

Lesley felt a thrill of strong indignation. How dared he speak of her
mother to her without shame and grief and repentance? She flushed to her
temples and cast down her eyes, for she was resolved to say nothing that
she might afterwards regret.

"Won't you sit down?" said Mr. Brooke, indifferently. "You must make
yourself at home, you know. If you don't, I'm afraid you will be
uncomfortable. You will have to look after yourself."

Lesley made no answer. She was thinking that it would be very
disagreeable to look after herself. She did not know how clearly her
face expressed her sentiments.

"You don't much like the prospect, apparently?" said her father.
"Well"--for he was becoming a little provoked by her silence--"what
_would_ you like? Do you want a maid?"

"Oh, no, thank you," said Lesley, startled into speech.

"You can have one if you l