Again, there was his love for me.  ‘Pater est, Pamphile;—­difficile est.’  How was this vast conceit of a not unreal paternal love to be encountered?  The sense of honour and of decency might appeal to him personally; would either of them get a hearing if he fancied them to be standing in opposition to my dearest interests?  I, unhappily, as the case would be sure to present itself to him, appeared the living example of his eminently politic career.  After establishing me the heir of one of the wealthiest of English commoners, would he be likely to forego any desperate chance of ennobling me by the brilliant marriage?  His dreadful devotion to me extinguished the hope that he would, unless I should happen to be particularly masterful in dealing with him.  I heard his nimble and overwhelming volubility like a flood advancing.  That could be withstood, and his arguments and persuasions.  But by what steps could I restrain the man himself?  I said ‘the man,’ as Janet did.  He figured in my apprehensive imagination as an engine more than as an individual.  Lassitude oppressed me.  I felt that I required every access of strength possible, physical besides moral, in anticipation of our encounter, and took a swim in sea-water, which displaced my drowsy fit, and some alarming intimations of cowardice menacing a paralysis of the will:  I had not altogether recovered from my gipsy drubbing.  And now I wanted to have the contest over instantly.  It seemed presumable that my father had slept at my lodgings.  There, however, the report of him was, that he had inspected the rooms, highly complimented the owner of them, and vanished.

Returning to the pier, I learnt that he had set sail in his hired yacht for the sister town on the Solent, at an early hour:—­for what purpose?  I knew of it too late to intercept it.  One of the squire’s horses trotted me over; I came upon Colonel Hibbert Segrave near the Club-house, and heard that my father was off again: 

’But your German prince and papa-in-law shall be free of the Club for the next fortnight,’ said he, and cordially asked to have the date of the marriage.  My face astonished him.  He excused himself for speaking of this happy event so abruptly.  A sting of downright anger drove me back at a rapid canter.  It flashed on me that this Prince Ernest, whose suave fashion of depressing me, and philosophical skill in managing his daughter, had induced me to regard him as a pattern of astuteness, was really both credulous and feeble, or else supremely unsuspecting:  and I was confirmed in the latter idea on hearing that he had sailed to visit the opposite harbour and docks on board my father’s yacht.  Janet shared my secret opinion.

‘The prince is a gentleman,’ she said.

Her wrath and disgust were unspeakable.  My aunt Dorothy blamed her for overdue severity.  ’The prince, I suppose, goes of his own free will where he pleases.’

Janet burst out, ’Oh! can’t you see through it, aunty?  The prince goes about without at all knowing that the person who takes him—­Harry sees it—­is making him compromise himself:  and by-and-by the prince will discover that he has no will of his own, whatever he may wish to resolve upon doing.’