with decision. "Then there are
the Kenyons, who live opposite. Ethel Kenyon is a clever girl--a great
favorite of mine. Her brother is a doctor."

"And she lives with him and keeps his house?" said Lesley, growing
interested.

"Well, she lives with him. I don't know that she does much in the way of
keeping his house. I hope I shall not shock your prejudices"--how did he
know that she had any prejudices?--"if I tell you that she is an
actress."

"An actress!"--Lesley flushed with surprise, even with a little horror,
though at the same moment she was conscious of a movement of pleasant
curiosity and a desire to know what an actress was like in private life.

"I thought you would be horrified," said her father, looking at her with
something very like satisfaction. "How could you be anything else? How
long have you lived in a French convent? Eight or ten years, is it not?
Ah, well, I can't be surprised if you have imbibed the conventional idea
of what you would call, I suppose, your class." He gave a little shrug
to his broad shoulders. "It can't be helped now. You must make yourself
as happy as you can, my poor child, as long as you are here, and console
yourself with visions of your happy future at the Courtleroys'."

It was exactly what Lesley intended to do, and yet she felt hurt by the
slightly contemptuous pity of his tone.

"I have no doubt that I shall be very happy," she said, steadying her
voice as well as she could; "and I hope that you will not concern
yourself about me."

"I should not have time to do so if I wished," he answered coolly. "I
never concern myself about anything but my proper business, which is
_not_ to look after girls of eighteen----"

"Then why did you send for me here?" she asked, with lightning rapidity.

The question seemed to surprise him. He raised his eyebrows as he looked
at her.

"That was a family arrangement made many years ago," he answered at last
deliberately. "And I think it was a wise one. There is no reason why you
should grow up in utter ignorance of your father. And I prefer you to
come when you have arrived at something like a reasonable age, rather
than when you were quite a child. As you _are_ at a reasonable age,
Lesley," with a lightening of his tones, "I suppose you have some
tastes, some inclinations, of your own? What are they?"

It must have been obstinacy that prompted Lesley's answer. "I have no
taste," she said, looking down. "No inclinations."

"Ar