“Then I tell you that his expressions of opinion are false, dear dad.”

“How?”

She was silent.  She dared not tell her father the reason; therefore, in order to turn the subject, she replied, with a forced laugh, “Oh, well, of course, I may be mistaken; but that’s my opinion.”

“A mere prejudice, child; I’m sure it is.  As far as I know, Flockart is quite an excellent fellow, and is most kind both to your mother and to myself.”

Gabrielle’s brow contracted.  Disengaging herself, she rose to her feet, and, after a pause, asked, “What reply shall I send to the report, dad?”

“Ah, that report!” gasped the man, huddled up in his chair in serious reflection.  “That report!” he repeated, rising to straighten himself.  “Reply in these words:  ’No effort is to be made to save the child’s life.  On the contrary, it is to be so neglected as to produce a fatal termination.’”

The girl had seated herself at the typewriter and rapidly clicked out the words in French—­words that seemed ominous enough, and yet the true meaning of which she never dreamed.  She was thinking only of her father’s misplaced friendship in James Flockart.  If she dared to tell him the naked truth!  Oh, if her poor, blind, afflicted father could only see!

CHAPTER X

DECLARES A WOMAN’S LOVE

At nine o’clock that night Gabrielle left her father, and ascended to her own pretty room, with its light chintz-covered furniture, its well-filled bamboo bookcases, its little writing-table, and its narrow bed in the alcove.  It was a nest of rest and cosy comfort.

Exchanging her tweed dress, she put on an easy dressing-gown of pale blue cashmere, drew up an armchair, and, arranging her electric reading-lamp, sat down to a new novel she intended to finish.

Presently Elise came to her; but, looking up, she said she did not wish to be disturbed, and again coiled herself up in the chair, endeavouring to concentrate her thoughts upon her book.  But all to no purpose.  Ever and anon she would lift her big eyes from the printed page, sigh, and stare fixedly at the rose-coloured trellis pattern of the wall-paper opposite.  Upon her there had fallen a feeling of vague apprehension such as she had never before experienced, a feeling that something was about to happen.

Lady Heyburn was, she knew, greatly annoyed that she had not made her appearance at dinner or in the drawing-room afterwards.  Generally, when there were guests from the neighbourhood, she was compelled to sing one or other of her Italian songs.  Her refusal to come to dinner would, she knew, cause her ladyship much chagrin, for it showed plainly to the guests that her authority over her step-daughter was entirely at an end.

Just as the stable-clock chimed half-past ten there came a light tap at the door.  It was Hill, who, on receiving permission to enter, said, “If you please, miss, Mr. Murie has just asked me to give you this”; and he handed her an envelope.