of me having a daughter struck me considerable, and I
concluded to trace her and size her up at once.' Nina was bound to
smile. 'So your poor mother's been dead three years?'

'Yes,' said Nina.

'Ah! don't let us talk about that. I feel I can't say just the right
thing.... And so you knew me by those pips.' He pulled up his right
sleeve. 'Was that why you came up to my parlour?'

Nina nodded, and Lionel Belmont sighed with relief.

'Why didn't you tell me at once, my dear, who you where?'

'I didn't dare,' she smiled; 'I was afraid. I thought you wouldn't----'

'Listen,' he said; 'I've wanted someone like you for years, years, and
years. I've got no one to look after----'

'Then why didn't _you_ tell _me_ at once who you were?' she questioned
with adorable pertness.

'Oh!' he laughed; 'how could I--plump like that? When I saw you first,
in the bureau, the stricken image of your mother at your age, I was
nearly down. But I came up all right, didn't I, my dear? I acted it out
well, didn't I?'

* * * * *

The hansom was rolling through Hyde Park, and the sunshiny hour was
eleven in June. Nina looked forth on the gay and brilliant scene:
rhododendrons, duchesses, horses, dandies--the incomparable wealth and
splendour of the capital. She took a long breath, and began to be happy
for the rest of her life. She felt that, despite her plain frock, she
was in this picture. Her father had told her that his income was rising
on a hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year, and he would thank her
to spend it. Her father had told her, when she had confessed the scene
with Mr. Reuben and what led to it, that she had grit, and that the
mistake was excusable, and that a girl as pretty as she was didn't want
to be as fly as Mr. Reuben had said. Her father had told her that he was
proud of her, and he had not been so rude as to laugh at her blunder.

She felt that she was about to enter upon the true and only vocation of
a dainty little morsel--namely, to spend money earned by other people.
She thought less homicidally now of the thirteen chorus-girls of the
previous night.

'Say,' said her father, 'I sail this afternoon for New York, Nina.'

'They said you'd gone, at the hotel.'

'Only my baggage. The _Minnehaha_ clears at five. I guess I want you to
come along too. On the voyage we'll get acquainted, and tell each other
things.'

'Suppose I say I won't?'

She spoke despotically, as the