Daddy's Girl

“I am sorry to seem to force your hand,” that nobleman had said to him at parting, “but if you distinctly refuse we must send another man, and whoever goes must start on Saturday.”

A trip to Australia, how he would enjoy it! To be quite away from London and his present conventional life. The only pain was the thought of parting with Sibyl. But he would do his business quickly, and come back and clasp her in his arms, and kiss her again and look into her eyes and – turn round; yes, he would turn short round and choose the right path, and be what she really thought him, a good man. In a very small degree, he would be the sort of man his child imagined him.

As these thoughts flashed before his mind he forgot that dinner was cooling in the dining-room, that he himself had eaten nothing for some hours, and that a curious faintness which he had experienced once or twice before had stolen over him. He did not like it nor quite understand it. He rose, crossed the room, and was about to ring the bell when a sudden spasm of most acute pain passed like a knife through his chest. He was in such agony that for a moment he was unable to stir. The sharpness of the pain soon went off, and he sank into a chair faint and trembling. He was now well enough to ring his bell. He did so, and the footman appeared.

“Bring me brandy, and be quick,” said Ogilvie.

The man started when he saw his face. He soon returned with the stimulant, which Ogilvie drank off. The agony in his chest subsided by degrees, and he was able to go into the dining-room and even to eat. He had never before had such terrible and severe pain, and now he was haunted by the memory of his father, who had died suddenly of acute disease of the heart.

After dinner he went, as usual, to his club, where he met a friend whom he liked. They chatted about many things, and the fears and apprehensions of the puzzled man dropped gradually from him. It was past midnight when Ogilvie returned home. He had now forgotten all about the pain in his chest. It had completely passed away. He felt as well and vigorous as ever. In the night, however, he slept badly, had tiresome dreams, and was much haunted by the thought of his child. If by any chance he were to die now! If, for instance, he died on his way to Australia, he would leave Sibyl badly provided for. A good deal of his private means had already been swallowed up by his own and his wife’s extravagant living, and what was left of it had been settled absolutely on his wife at the time of their marriage. Although, of course, this money at her mother’s death would revert to Sibyl, he had a presentiment, which he knew was founded on a firm basis, that Mrs. Ogilvie might be careless, inconsiderate – not kind, in the true sense of the word, to the little girl. If it came to be a tussle between Sibyl’s needs and her mother’s fancied necessities, Ogilvie’s intuitions told him truly that Sibyl would go to the wall.

“I must do something better than that for my little daughter,” thought the man. “I will not go to Australia until I have decided that point. If I go, I shall make terms, and it will be for Sibyl’s sake.”

But again that uncomfortable, tiresome conscience of his began to speak; and that conscience told him that if he went to Australia for the purpose of blinding the eyes of possible shareholders in London, he would in reality be doing the very worst possible thing for his child.

He tossed about between one temptation and another for the remainder of the night, and arose in the morning unrefreshed. As he was dressing, however, a thought came to him which he hailed as a possible relief. Why not do the right thing right from the beginning; tell Grayleigh that the proposed commission to visit Australia was altogether distasteful to him; that he washed his hands of the great new syndicate; that they might sweep in their gold, but he would have nothing to say to it? At the same time he might insure his life for ten thousand pounds. It would be a heavy interest to pay, no doubt, and they would probably have to live in a smaller house, and he and his wife would have to put down their expenses in various ways, but he would have the comfort of knowing that whatever happened Sibyl would not be without means of subsistence.

“When I have done that, and absolutely provided for her future, I shall have a great sense of rest,” thought the man. “I will go and see Dr. Rashleigh, of the Crown and Life Insurance Company, as soon as ever I get to the City. That is a happy thought.”

He smiled cheerfully to himself, ran downstairs, and ate a hearty breakfast. A letter from his wife lay upon his plate. He did not even open it. He thrust it into his pocket and went off to the City, telling his servant as he did so that he would be back to dinner.

As soon as he got to his office he read his letters, gave his clerks directions, and went at once to see Dr. Rashleigh, of the Insurance Company.

Rashleigh happened to be one of his special friends, and he knew his hours. It was a little unusual to expect him to examine him for an insurance without an appointment; but he believed, in view of his possible visit to Australia, that Rashleigh would be willing to overlook ceremony.

He arrived at the office, saw one of the clerks downstairs, heard that Rashleigh was in and would soon be disengaged, and presently was shown into the doctor’s consulting room.

Rashleigh was a grey-haired man of about sixty years of age. He spent a couple of hours every day in the consulting room of the Crown and Life Insurance Company. He rose now, and extended his hand with pleasure when Ogilvie appeared.

“My dear Ogilvie, and what do you want with me? Have you at last listened to my entreaties that you should insure your life in a first-class office?”

“Something of the kind,” said Ogilvie, forcing a smile, for again that agony which had come over him yesterday assailed him. He knew that his heart was throbbing faintly, and he remembered once more that his father had died of heart disease. Oh, it was all nonsense; of course he had nothing to fear. He was a man in his prime, not much over thirty – he was all right.

Rashleigh asked him a few questions.

“I may have to go to Australia rather suddenly,” said Ogilvie, “and I should like first to insure my life. I want to settle the money on my child before I leave home.”

“How large a sum do you propose to insure for?” asked the doctor.

“I have given the particulars to the clerk downstairs. I should like to insure for ten thousand pounds.”

“Well, I daresay that can be managed. You are an excellent client, and quite a young man. Now just let me sound your lungs, and listen to your heart.”

Ogilvie removed his necktie, unbuttoned his shirt, and placed himself in the doctor’s hands.

Dr. Rashleigh made his examination without comment, slowly and carefully. At last it was over.

“Well?” said Ogilvie, just glancing at him. “It’s all right, I suppose.”

“It is not the custom for a doctor at an insurance office to tell his patient anything about the result of the examination,” was Rashleigh’s answer. “You’ll hear all in good time.”

“But there really is no time to lose, and you are an old friend. You look grave. If it cannot be done, of course it cannot, but I should like to know.”

“When do you propose to go to Australia?”

“I may not go at all. In fact if – ” Ogilvie suddenly leaned against the table. Once again he felt faint and giddy. “If this is all right, I shall probably not go.”

“But suppose it is not all right?”

“Then I sail on Saturday.”

“I may as well tell you the truth,” said Rashleigh; “you are a brave man. My dear fellow, the office cannot insure you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Heart,” said Rashleigh.

“Heart! Mine? Not affected?”

“Yes.”

“Seriously?”

“It is hard to answer that question. The heart is a strange organ, and capable of a vast amount of resuscitation; nevertheless, in your case the symptoms are grave; the aortic valve is affected. It behooves you to be very careful.”

“Does this mean that I – ” Ogilvie dropped into a chair. “Rashleigh,” he said suddenly, “I had a horrible attack last night. I forgot it this morning when I came to you, but it was horrible while it lasted. I thought myself, during those moments of torture, within a measurable – a very measurable distance of the end.”

“Describe your sensations,” said Rashleigh.

Ogilvie did so.

“Now, my dear fellow, I have a word to say. This insurance cannot be done. But, for yourself, you must avoid excitement. I should like to prescribe a course of living for you. I have studied the heart extensively.”

“Will nothing put me straight? Cure me, I mean?”

“I fear not.”

“Well, good-by, Rashleigh; I will call round to see you some evening.”

“Do. I should like you to have the advice of a specialist, Anderson, the greatest man in town on the heart.”

“But where is the use? If you cannot cure me, he cannot.”

“You may live for years and years, and die of something else in the end.”

“Just what was said to my father, who did not live for years and years,” answered the man. “I won’t keep you any longer, Rashleigh.”

He left the office and went down into the street. As he crossed the Poultry and got once more into the neighborhood of his own office, one word kept ringing in his ears, “Doomed.”

He arrived at his office and saw his head clerk.

“You don’t look well, Mr. Ogilvie.”

“Never mind about my looks, Harrison,” replied Ogilvie. “I have a great deal to do, and need your best attention.”

“Certainly, sir; but, all the same, you don’t look well.”

“Looks are nothing,” replied Ogilvie. “I shall soon be all right. Harrison, I am off to Australia on Saturday.”

CHAPTER VI

On that same Tuesday Lord Grayleigh spent a rather anxious day. For many reasons it would never do for him to press Ogilvie, and yet if Ogilvie declined to go to Queensland matters might not go quite smoothly with the new Syndicate. He was the most trusted and eminent mine assayer in London, and had before now done useful work for Grayleigh, who was chairman of several other companies. Up to the present Grayleigh, a thoroughly worldly and hard-headed man of business, had made use of Ogilvie entirely to his own benefit and satisfaction. It was distinctly unpleasant to him, therefore, to find that just at the most crucial moment in his career, when everything depended on Ogilvie’s subservience to his chief’s wishes, he should turn restive.

“That sort of man with a conscience is intolerable,” thought Lord Grayleigh, and then he wondered what further lever he might bring to bear in order to get Ogilvie to consent to the Australian visit.

He was thinking these thoughts, pacing up and down alone in a retired part of the grounds, when he heard shrill screams of childish laughter, and the next moment Sibyl, in one of her white frocks, the flounces badly torn, her hat off and hair in wild disorder, rushed past. She was closely followed by Freda, Mabel and Gus being not far behind.

“Hullo!” said Lord Grayleigh; “come here, little woman, and account for yourself.”

Sibyl paused in her mad career. She longed to say, “I’m not going to account for myself to you,” but she remembered her mother’s injunction. She had been on her very best behavior all Sunday, Monday, and up to now on Tuesday, but her fit of goodness was coming to an end. She was in the mood to be obstreperous, naughty, and wilful; but the thought of her mother, who was so gently following in the path of the humble, restrained her.

“If mother, who is an angel, a perfect angel, can think herself naughty and yet wish me to be good, I ought to help her by being as good as I possibly can,” she thought.

So she stopped and looked at Lord Grayleigh with the wistful, puzzled expression which at once repelled and attracted him. His own daughters also drew up, panting.

“We were chasing Sib,” they said; “she challenged us. She said that, although she does live in town, she could beat us.”

“And it looked uncommonly like it when I saw you all,” was Grayleigh’s response. “Sibyl has long legs for her age.”

Sibyl looked down at the members in question, and put on a charming pout. Grayleigh laughed, and going up to her side, laid his hand on her shoulder.

“I saw your father yesterday. Shall I tell you about him?”

This, indeed, was a powerful bait. Sibyl’s soft lips trembled slightly. The wistful look in her eyes became appealing.

“Pathetic eyes, more pathetic than any dog’s,” thought Lord Grayleigh. He took her hand.

“You and I will walk by ourselves for a little,” he said. “Run away, children. Sibyl will join you in a few moments.”

Sibyl, as if mesmerized, now accompanied Lord Grayleigh. She disliked her present position immensely, and yet she wondered if it was given to her by Lord Jesus, as a special opportunity which she was on no account to neglect. Should she tell Lord Grayleigh what she really thought of him? But for her mother she would not have hesitated for a moment, but that mother had been very kind to her during the last two days, and Sibyl had enjoyed studying her character from a new point of view. Mother was polite to people, even though they were not quite perfect. Mother always looked sweet and tidy and ladylike, and beautifully dressed. Mother never romped, nor tore her clothes, nor climbed trees. It was an uninteresting life from Sibyl’s point of view, and yet, perhaps, it was the right life. Up to the present the child had never seriously thought of her own conduct at all. She accepted the fact with placidity that she herself was not good. It was rather interesting to be “not good,” and yet to live in the house with two perfectly angelic beings. It seemed to make their goodness all the whiter. At the present moment she longed earnestly to be “not good.”

Lord Grayleigh, holding her hand, advanced in the direction of a summer-house.

“We will sit here and talk, shall we?” he said.

“Yes, shall us?” replied Sibyl.

Lord Grayleigh smiled; he placed himself in a comfortable chair, and motioned Sibyl to take another. She drew a similar chair forward, placed it opposite to her host, and sat on it. It was a high chair, and her feet did not reach the ground.

“I ’spect I’m rather short for my age,” she said, looking down and speaking in a tone of apology.

“Why, how old are you?” he asked.

“Quite old,” she replied gravely; “I was eight at five minutes past seven Monday fortnight back.”

“You certainly have a vast weight of years on your head,” he replied, looking at her gravely.

She did not see the sarcasm, she was thinking of something else. Suddenly she looked him full in the face.

“You called me away from the other children ’cos you wanted to speak about father, didn’t you? Please tell me all about him. Is he quite well?”

“Of course he is.”

“Did he ask about me?”

“Yes, he asked me how you were.”

“And what did you say?”

“I replied, with truth, that I had twice had the pleasure of seeing you; once when you were very rude to me, once when you were equally polite.”

Sibyl’s eyes began to dance.

“What are you thinking of, eight-year-old?” asked Lord Grayleigh.

“Of you,” answered Sibyl with promptitude.

“Come, that’s very interesting; what about me? Now, be quite frank and tell me why you were rude to me the first time we met?”

“May I?” said Sibyl with great eagerness. “Do you really, truly mean it?”

“I certainly mean it.”

“You won’t tell – mother?”

“I won’t tell – mother,” said Lord Grayleigh, mimicking her manner.

Sibyl gave a long, deep sigh.

“I am glad,” she said with emphasis. “I don’t want my ownest mother to be hurt. She tries so hard, and she is so beautiful and perfect. It’s most ’portant that I should speak to you, and if you will promise – ”

“I have promised; whatever you say shall be secret. Now, out with it.”

“You won’t like it,” said Sibyl.

“You must leave me to judge of that.”

“I am going to be fwightfully rude.”

“Indeed! that is highly diverting.”

“I don’t know what diverting is, but it will hurt you.”

“I believe I can survive the pain.”

Sibyl looked full at him then.

“Are you laughing at me?” she said, and she jumped down from her high chair.

“I would not dream of doing so.”

The curious amused expression died out of Lord Grayleigh’s eyes. He somehow felt that he was confronting Sibyl’s father with all those unpleasant new scruples in full force.

“Speak away, little girl,” he said, “I promise not to laugh. I will listen to you with respect. You are an uncommon child, very like your father.”

“Thank you for saying that, but it isn’t true; for father’s perfect, and I’m not. I will tell you now why I was rude, and why I am going to be rude again, monstrous rude. It is because you told lies.”

“Indeed!” said Lord Grayleigh, pretending to be shocked. “Do you know that that is a shocking accusation? If a man, for instance, had said that sort of thing to another man a few years back, it would have been a case for swords.”

“I don’t understand what that means,” said Sibyl.

“For a duel; you have heard of a duel?”

“Oh, in history, of course,” said Sibyl, her eyes sparkling, “and one man kills another man. They run swords through each other until one of them gets killed dead. I wish I was a man.”

“Do you really want to run a sword through me?”

Sibyl made no answer to this; she shut her lips firmly, her eyes ablaze.

“Come,” said Lord Grayleigh, “it is unfair to accuse a man and not to prove your accusation. What lies have I told?”

“About my father.”

“Hullo! I suppose I am stupid, but I fail to understand.”

“I will try and ’splain. I didn’t know that you was stupid, but you do tell lies.”

“Well, go on; you are putting it rather straight, you know.”

“I want to.”

“Fire away then.”

“You told someone – I don’t know the name – you told somebody that my father was unscroopolus.”

“Indeed,” said Lord Grayleigh. He colored, and looked uneasy. “I told somebody – that is diverting.”

“It’s not diverting,” said Sibyl, “it’s cruel, it’s mean, it’s wrong; it’s lies – black lies. Now you know.”

“But whom did I tell?”

“Somebody, and somebody told me – I’m not going to tell who told me.”

“Even suppose I did say anything of the sort, what do you know about that word?”

“I found it out. An unscroopolus person is a person who doesn’t act right. Do you know that my father never did wrong, never from the time he was borned? My father is quite perfect, God made him so.”

“Your father is a very nice fellow, Sibyl.”

“He is much better than nice, he is perfect; he never did anything wrong. He is perfect, same as Lord Jesus is perfect.”

The little girl looked straight out into the summer landscape. Her lips trembled, on each cheek there flushed a crimson rose.

Lord Grayleigh shuffled his feet. Had anyone in all the world told him that he would have listened quietly, and with a sense of respect, to such a story as he was now hearing, he would have roared with laughter. But he was not at all inclined to laugh now that he found himself face to face with Sibyl.

“And mother is perfect, too,” she said, turning and facing him.

Then he did laugh; he laughed aloud.

“Oh, no,” he said.

“So you don’t wonder that I hate you,” continued Sibyl, taking no notice of that last remark. “It’s ’cos you like to tell lies about good people. My father is perfect, and you called him unscroopolus. No wonder I hate you.”

“Listen now, little girl.” Lord Grayleigh took the hot, trembling hand, and drew the child to his side.

“Don’t shrink away, don’t turn from me,” he said; “I am not so bad as you make me out. If I did make use of such an expression, I have forgotten it. Men of the world say lots of things that little girls don’t understand. Little girls of eight years old, if they are to grow up nice and good, and self-respecting, must take the world on trust. So you must take me on trust, and believe that even if I did say what you accuse me of saying, I still have a great respect for your father. I think him a right down good fellow.”

“The best in all the world?” queried Sibyl.

“I am sure at least of one thing, that no little girl ever had a fonder father.”

“And you own up you told a lie? You do own up that father’s quite perfect?”

“Men like myself don’t care to own themselves in the wrong,” said Lord Grayleigh, “and the fact is – listen, you queer little mortal – I don’t like perfect people. It is true that I have never met any.”

“You have met my father and my mother.”

“Come, Sibyl, shall we make a compromise? I like you, I want you to like me. Forget that I said what I myself have forgotten, and believe that I have a very great respect for your father. Come, if he were here, he would ask you to be friendly with me.”

“Would he?” said the child. She looked wistful and interested. “There are lots of things I want to be ’splained to me,” she said. Then, after a moment – “I’ll think whether I’ll be friends with you, and I’ll let you know, may be to-morrow.”

As she said the last words she pushed aside his detaining hand, and ran out of the summer-house. He heard her eager, quick steps as she ran away, and a moment later there came her gay laughter back to him from the distance. She had joined the other children, and was happy in her games.

“Poor little maid!” he said to himself, and he sat on grave and silent. He did not like to confess it, but Sibyl’s words had affected him.

“The faith she has in that poor fellow is quite beautiful,” was his inward thought; “it seems a sin to break it. If he does go to Queensland it will be broken, and somewhat rudely. I could send Atherton. Atherton is not the man for our purpose. His report won’t affect the public as Ogilvie’s report would, but he has never yet been troubled by conscience, and Sibyl’s faith will be unshaken. It is worth considering. It is not every man who has got a little daughter like Sibyl.”

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