.

He was alone. My father had slipped from him to leave a card at the
squire's hotel. General Goodwin touched Temple on the shoulder kindly, in
marked contrast to his treatment of me, and wished us good-night. Nothing
had been heard of my father by Janet, but while I was sitting with her,
at a late hour, his card was brought up, and a pencilled entreaty for an
interview the next morning.

'That will suit grandada,' Janet said. 'He commissioned me before going
to bed to write the same for him.'

She related that the prince was in a state of undisguised distraction.
From what I could comprehend--it appeared incredible--he regarded his
daughter's marriage as the solution of the difficulty, the sole way out
of the meshes.

'Is not that her wish?' said Temple; perhaps with a wish of his own.

'Oh, if you think a lady like the Princess Ottilia is led by her wishes,'
said Janet. Her radiant perception of an ideal in her sex (the first she
ever had) made her utterly contemptuous toward the less enlightened.

We appointed the next morning at half-past eleven for my father's visit.

'Not a minute later,' Janet said in my ear, urgently. 'Don't--don't let
him move out of your sight, Harry! The princess is convinced you are not
to blame.'

I asked her whether she had any knowledge of the squire's designs.

'I have not, on my honour,' she answered. 'But I hope . . . It is so
miserable to think of this disgraceful thing! She is too firm to give
way. She does not blame you. I am sure I do not; only, Harry, one always
feels that if one were in another's place, in a case like this, I could
and would command him. I would have him obey me. One is not born to
accept disgrace even from a father. I should say, "You shall not stir, if
you mean to act dishonourably." One is justified, I am sure, in breaking
a tie of relationship that involves you in dishonour. Grandada has not
spoken a word to me on the subject. I catch at straws. This thing burns
me! Oh, good-night, Harry. I can't sleep.'

'Good-night,' she called softly to Temple on the stairs below. I heard
the poor fellow murmuring good-night to himself in the street, and
thought him happier than I. He slept at a room close to the hotel.

A note from Clara Goodwin adjured me, by her memory of the sweet, brave,
gracious fellow she loved in other days, to be worthy of what I had been.
The General had unnerved her reliance on me.

I sat up for my father until long past midnight.