When her lover was gone at last, she closed the door and leaned against
it, feeling weak in every fibre.
Bathurst, coming out a few moments later, was struck by her spent look.
"Well, Dinah lass," he said lightly, "you look as if it had cost
something of an effort to land your catch. But he's a mighty fine one, I
will say that for him."
She went to him, twining her arm in his, forcing herself to smile. "Oh,
Dad," she said, "he is fine, isn't he?" But--but--she uttered the words
almost in spite of herself--"you should see his brother. You should
see--Scott."
"What? Is he finer still?" laughed Bathurst, pinching her cheek. "Have
you got the whole family at your feet, you little baggage?"
She flushed very deeply. "Oh no! Oh no! I didn't mean that. Scott--Scott
is not a bit like that. He is--he is--" And there she broke off, for who
could hope to convey any faithful impression of this good friend of hers?
There were no words that could adequately describe him. With a little
sigh she turned from the subject. "I'm glad you like Eustace," she said
shyly.
Bathurst laughed a little, then bent unexpectedly, and kissed her. "It's
a case of Cinderella and the prince," he said lightly. "But the luck
isn't all on Cinderella's side, I'm thinking."
She clung to him eagerly. "Oh, Daddy, thank you! Thank you! Do you
know--it's funny--Scott used to call me Cinderella!"
Bathurst crooked his brows quizzically.
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