"He was a friend of Mr. Melstane's, I believe," said Judith, angrily, "and you, no doubt, saw him during those foolish meetings with that man."
"No, I didn't," answered Florry, going back to her footstool; "I never saw him at all. And our meetings weren't foolish. I love Sebastian very much, only papa will make me marry this horrid Spolger thing."
"How many times did you see Mr. Melstane?"
"Five or six times here and once in London.
"Well!" said Miss Marson, pettishly, "you asked me? I saw him in London that day I went to see Aunt Spencer, when we stopped in London on our way to Ventnor."
"Why didn't Aunt Spencer tell me of it, then?"
"She didn't know," answered Florry, penitently. "I met Sebastian on the way, and we were together for two hours. Then I went on to Aunt Spencer and told her nothing."
"And told me nothing also," said Judith, severely. "Upon my word, Florry, I did not think you were so deceitful! You met Mr. Melstane in London, and this is the first I hear about it."
"Well, you were so horrid, Judith," pouted Florry, playing with her handkerchief; "and Sebastian told me to say nothing."
"No, he's not," retorted Miss Marson, angrily; "he's a very nice man, and I love him very, very much, in spite of Mr. Spolger--there!"
Judith was about to make some angry reply, feeling thoroughly disgusted at Florry's duplicity, when the door was thrown open, and Mr. Marson entered the room.
A tall, severe-looking man, this Francis Marson, with a worn, worried expression on his face. He sighed wearily as he sat down near the fire.
"Oh, what a sigh--what a big sigh!" cried Florry, recovering her spirits and poising herself on the old man's knee. "What is the matter, papa?"
"Nothing, child, nothing," replied Marson, hastily, smoothing the golden hair of his darling. "Business worries, my dear; what I spoke about the other day."
Florry drew down the corners of her mouth as if she were going to cry; then, suddenly changing her mind, she threw her arms round her father's neck, and placed her soft face against his withered cheek.
"Don't talk about business, papa," she said, coaxingly; "I hate it; it's so disagreeable."
"So it is for a frivolous young person like you, dear," said Mr. Marson, cheerfully; "but it's very necessary all the same. What would become of your thousand and one wants but for this same business you so disapprove of?"