I could not decide if
he liked her or not. Sometimes I saw him smiling to himself in the
queer, half-scornful way he had done when they first met, and then I was
sure he did not; but at other times he would watch her about the room,
following every movement as if he couldn't help himself, and that's a
bad sign. Lorna has a sister who is married, and she knew the man was
going to propose, because he looked like that. Somehow I never had a
chance of a quiet talk, when I could have given him a hint, and it was
thinking about that and wondering how I could see him alone which made
me suddenly remember that it was a whole week and more since I had been
a walk with father. I went hot all over at the thought. It was ghastly
to remember how I had planned and promised to be his companion, and to
care for him first of all, and then to realise how I had forsaken him at
the very first temptation! He was so sweet about it, too, never
complaining or seeming a bit vexed. Parents are really angels. It must
be awful to have a child, and take such trouble with it all its life,
and then to be neglected for strangers. I hadn't the heart to write in
my diary that night. I was too ashamed. I was worse than Vere, for I
had posed as being so good and dutiful. I won't make any more vows, but
I confess here with that I am a selfish pig, and I am ashamed of myself.

The next morning I could hardly wait until breakfast was over, I was so
anxious to be off. I got my cap and ran down to the stable and slipped
my arm in father's as he stood talking to Vixen. He gave a little start
of surprise--it hurt me, that start!--looked down at me and said,
smiling--

"Well, dear, what is it?"

"Nothing. I'm coming with you!" I said, and he squeezed my hand
against his side.

"Thank you, dear, but I'm going a long round. I won't be back until
lunch. Better not leave your friends for so long."

"Vere is with them, father. I want to come."

"What's the matter? Not had a quarrel, have you? Has Vere been--"

"No, no, she hasn't! _Nothing_ is the matter, except that I want you,
and nobody else. Oh, father, don't be so horribly kind! Scold me--call
me a selfish wretch! I know I have neglected you, dear. There was
always something to do, and I--forgot, but really and truly I remembered
all the time. It isn't nonsense, father, it's true. Can you
understand?"

"I've been nineteen myself, Babs; I understand. Don't worry, darling.
I m