And the clean-shaven young man, with his bright buttons bearing the chevron gules betwixt three boars’ heads erased sable, of the Heyburns, bowed and withdrew.

“I had quite forgotten the ball at Connachan, dear,” exclaimed her father, stretching out his thin white hand in search of hers again.  “Of course you are going?”

“No, dad; I’m staying at home with you.”

“Staying at home!” echoed Sir Henry.  “Why, my dear Gabrielle, the first year you’re out, and missing the best ball in the county!  Certainly not.  I’m all right.  I shan’t be lonely.  A little box came this morning from the Professor, didn’t it?”

“Yes, dad.”

“Then I shall be able to spend the evening very well alone.  The Professor has sent me what he promised the other day.”

“I’ve decided not to go,” was the girl’s firm reply.

“I fear, dear, your mother will be very annoyed if you refuse,” he remarked.

“I shall risk that, dear old dad, and stay with you to-night.  Please allow me,” she added persuasively, taking his hand in hers and bending till her red lips touched his white brow.  “You have quite a lot to do, remember.  A big packet of papers came from Paris this morning.  I must read them over to you.”

“But your mother, my dear!  Your absence will be commented upon.  People will gossip, you know.”

“There is but one person I care for, dad—­yourself,” laughed the girl lightly.

“Perhaps you’re disappointed over a new frock or something, eh?”

“Not at all.  My frock came from town the day before yesterday.  Elise declares it suits me admirably, and she’s very hard to please, you know.  It’s white, trimmed with tiny roses.”

“A perfect dream, I expect,” remarked the blind man, smiling.  “I wish I could see you in it, dear.  I often wonder what you are like, now that you’ve grown to be a woman.”

“I’m like what I always have been, dad, I suppose,” she laughed.

“Yes, yes,” he sighed, in pretence of being troubled.  “Wilful as always.  And—­and,” he faltered a moment later, “I often hear your dear dead mother’s voice in yours.”  Then he was silent, and by the deep lines in his brow she knew that he was thinking.

Outside, in the high elms beyond the level, well-kept lawn, with its grey old sundial, the homecoming rooks were cawing prior to settling down for the night.  No other sound broke the stillness of that quiet sunset hour save the solemn ticking of the long, old-fashioned clock at the farther end of the big, book-lined room, with its wide fireplace, great overmantel of carved stone with emblazoned arms, and its three long windows of old stained glass which gave it a somewhat ecclesiastical aspect.

“Tell me, child,” repeated Sir Henry at length, “what was it that upset you just now?”

“Nothing, dad—­unless—­well, perhaps it’s the heat.  I felt rather unwell when I went out for my ride this morning,” she answered with a frantic attempt at excuse.