Garth followed her indignantly;
and Frank slipped out on his side at that favorable opportunity.

Under these circumstances, there was but one course that any respectable
woman could take--she could only shudder. Miss Garth registered her
protest in that form, and returned to the house.

When breakfast was over, and when Mr. Vanstone's hand descended to his
pocket in search of his cigar-case, Magdalen rose; looked significantly
at Miss Garth; and followed her father into the hall.

"Papa," she said, "I want to speak to you this morning--in private."

"Ay! ay!" returned Mr. Vanstone. "What about, my dear!"

"About--" Magdalen hesitated, searching for a satisfactory form of
expression, and found it. "About business, papa," she said.

Mr. Vanstone took his garden hat from the hall table--opened his eyes
in mute perplexity--attempted to associate in his mind the two
extravagantly dissimilar ideas of Magdalen and "business"--failed--and
led the way resignedly into the garden.

His daughter took his arm, and walked with him to a shady seat at a
convenient distance from the house. She dusted the seat with her
smart silk apron before her father occupied it. Mr. Vanstone was not
accustomed to such an extraordinary act of attention as this. He sat
down, looking more puzzled than ever. Magdalen immediately placed
herself on his knee, and rested her head comfortably on his shoulder.

"Am I heavy, papa?" she asked.

"Yes, my dear, you are," said Mr. Vanstone--"but not too heavy for _me_.
Stop on your perch, if you like it. Well? And what may this business
happen to be?"

"It begins with a question."

"Ah, indeed? That doesn't surprise me. Business with your sex, my dear,
always begins with questions. Go on."

"Papa! do you ever intend allowing me to be married?"

Mr. Vanstone's eyes opened wider and wider. The question, to use his own
phrase, completely staggered him.

"This is business with a vengeance!" he said. "Why, Magdalen! what have
you got in that harum-scarum head of yours now?"

"I don't exactly know, papa. Will you answer my question?"

"I will if I can, my dear; you rather stagger me. Well, I don't know.
Yes; I suppose I must let you be married one of these days--if we can
find a good husband for you. How hot your face is! Lift it up, and let
the air blow over it. You won't? Well--have your own way. If talking of
business means tickling your cheek against my whisker I've nothing to
say against it. Go