George Elgood speedily beat a retreat to the study, where Mr Vane
listened to his request with quiet resignation. Elderly, grey-haired
fathers have a way of seeing more than their children suspect, and
Margot's father had recognised certain well-known signs in the manner in
which he had been questioned concerning his daughter's progress during
those anxious days at Glenaire. His heart sank as he listened to the
lover's protestations, but he told himself that he ought to be thankful
to know that his little Margot had chosen a man of unblemished
character, who was of an age to appreciate his responsibility, possessed
an income sufficient to keep her in comfort, and, last but not least, a
home within easy distance of his own.
Late that evening, when her lover had taken his departure, Margot stole
down to the study and sat silently for a time on her old perch on the
arm of her father's chair, with her head resting lovingly against his
own. He was thankful to feel her dear presence, and to know that she
wished to be near him on this night of all others, but his heart was too
full to speak, and it was she who at last spoke the first words.
"I never knew," she said softly, "I never knew that it was possible to
be as happy as this. It's so wonderful! One can't realise it all.
Father dear, I've been thinking of you! ... I never realised before
what it meant to you when mother died--all that you lost! You have been
good, and brave, and unselfish, dear, and we must have tried you sorely
many times. We didn't understand, but I understand a little bit now,
daddy, and it makes me love you more. You'll remember, won't you, that
this is going to draw us closer together, not separate us one little
bit? You'll be sure to remember?"
"Bless you, dear!" he said, and stroked her hand with tender fingers.
"It is sweet to hear you say so, at least. I'm glad you are going to be
happy, and if I am to give you away at all, I am glad it is to a strong,
sensible man whom I can trust and respect; but it will be a sad day for
me when you leave the old home, Margot."
Margot purred over him with tenderest affection.
"How I wish Agnes would marry!"
"What has that to do with it, pray?"
"Then you could live with me, of course! I should love it," said Margot
warmly; and though her father had no intention of accepting such an
invitation, it remained through life a solace to him to remember that it
had been in the girl's heart to wish it.