So he didn’t remember! He remembered that Jenny liked her bonbons tied with pink ribbon, but he couldn’t remember his daughter’s age. But perhaps he was pretending to forget, for surely be must remember the day which had been the most tragic in his life, until he had met his Jenny, who had made a new man of him.

“Sixteen and a half.”

“It is a little early. I had thought you should wait until you were at least seventeen, and then have a year or two abroad. But I see no reason why you should not go now. Your reports from school are not bad. They could, of course, be better, but they are adequate. The place to which Gwennan Menfrey has been sent seems to satisfy her parents. I do not see why it should not be equally good for you. So you will not be returning to Cheltenham.”

I was excited. Soon to be with Gwennan again! It was the next best thing to being at Menfrey.

“The school is near Tours,” he said. As if I didn’t know! “We will see what it has done for you in, say … six months, and if it gives satisfaction you will stay for a year, perhaps two.”

“Yes, Papa,” I said.

He nodded a sign of dismissal, and I went to the door very conscious of my limp.

On such occasions I could see how we needed Jenny. If she went away, the old relationship between my father and myself would soon return. That realization made me very sad, but I was excited at the prospect of joining Gwennan.

They were going to the theater that night. William Lister told me that he had had difficulty in procuring the tickets, but he had to get them somehow because Lady Delvaney was so eager to go. It was a new departure from his duties of the past—this securing of theater tickets.

At dinner that evening, which was served half an hour earlier on account of the theater jaunt, Jenny looked prettier than ever. She was in mauve chiffon over a green satin, and I had to admit to myself that the effect was enchanting; she wore her fair hair piled high on her bead, which had the effect of making her seem more childish than ever. My farther, I thought, was drinking more than usual, and Jenny was affecting a pretty concern.

“But, Teddy, I am really serious. If your poor head is not better, I shall insist that we do not go.”

“It is nothing, my love, nothing at all,” he assured her.

She turned to me. “But, Harriet, his poor head was so bad this afternoon. I made him rest and I put some of my Eau de Cologne on his forehead. It is wonderful. It always makes me feel better when I’m fatigued. If you ever need it, Harriet…”

“I don’t have headaches, thank you.”

“Oh no, you are so young … But, Teddy, you must take greater care. And if your head is not completely cured, it shall be no play for you.”

My father smiled at her fondly and declared that she had charmed away his headache.

I glanced at William, wondering what he thought of all this lovers' talk, and I saw that he was embarrassed, as I was.

Just before midnight I went to my window and saw my top-hatted, black-coated father, and my glittering stepmother returning from the theater. She was chattering. I could hear her high-pitched, excited voice as they came up to their room. I sat for some time at the window, wondering whether it had been like that with my mother and whether they had been delighted when they knew they were going to be parents. I tried to assure myself that he had been as excited then at the prospect of becoming a father as he was now to be the husband of a pretty young girl.

Perhaps under Jenny’s influence he would grow more and more mellow and tell me.

I undressed, went to bed and was soon asleep—to be startled by the sound of knocking on my door, which was flung open even as I opened my eyes.

My stepmother in a negligee all frills of lace and satin, her fair hair in confusion about her shoulders, her blue eyes wider than I had ever seen them, and fear written all over her pale face, was shouting incoherently at me.

“Harriet … for God sake … come. Your father … Teddy … something’s happened. Oh, Harriet Come quickly.”

My father died early next morning. Never had I felt so blank, such a sense of unreality. I could only think: Now I shall never be able to win his approval … never … never… never!

The strange night was over. The doctor had told us that my father had had a stroke and that there was just a possibility that he might recover; but before morning that possibility vanished. Jenny could only tremble and murmur: “It can’t be true. It can’t be true.” The doctor talked to me instead of her.

“Had he recovered,” he said, “he would have been an invalid. I do not think he would have enjoyed living in such a condition.”

We were all grateful to William Lister who took charge of the household in his calm, efficient way.

The doctor gave Jenny and me mild sedatives because, he said, we needed to sleep. She kept close to my side. “Can I be with you, Harriet? I can’t go back to our room.” I felt fond of her in that moment “Of course,” I said. So she slept in my bed until the morning. I awoke with a feeling that I had had a nightmare. Nothing would ever be the same again. My father, of whom I had seen very little, had in spite of that been at the very center of my existence. A burden had been lifted, but something vital to me had been taken away. I could not explain my feelings.

Jenny’s were less complicated. She had lost the great provider—the fairy godfather who had found her in rags and taken her to the ball. She was frankly distressed, and although anxiety for her future may have been at the root of this, she had, I believe, been fond of him.

In due course Aunt Clarissa arrived and immediately manifested her dislike of Jenny. I found myself hoping that Jenny did not notice.

She came to my room and looked at me with a criticism which even at such a time made me wonder whether she was picturing the difficulty of finding a husband for me. “Such a shocking thing!” She shut the door. ”I never did approve of this marriage. I have never known Edward to act foolishly before. But that … creature. Most unsuitable! What ever possessed him?”

“Love,” I answered.

“Harriet, are you trying to be clever? It’s not very becoming—and at such a time.”

“It is not in the least clever to see the obvious. Papa was very much in love with her, so he married her and gave her all the things which she had never had before.”

“H’m, and she took them with the utmost eagerness.”

“Her eagerness to take could not compare with his to give.”

“What nonsense is this! I am deeply shocked and filled with grief, but that will not prevent my making sure that we really get to the bottom of this mystery.”

“Mystery? Papa died of a stroke. The doctor said so.”

“Well, we shall see at the autopsy, shall we not?”

“An autopsy!”

“My dear child, there is always an autopsy after sudden death, and your father’s was very sudden.”

“Aunt Clarissa, what are you suggesting?”

“Merely that an aging man, a very rich man, decides to marry a young adventuress. He does so, and very shortly he dies.”

“But what has she to gain?”

“Doubtless we shall hear when the will is read after the funeral. But the autopsy, I am thankful to say, comes first”

“I am sure you are quite wrong.”

“And you, Harriet, are far too self-opinionated. I can see your manners are as atrocious as ever.” She turned and was about to leave me, but at the door she paused. “Not a word of this,” she said, “to her. If she thinks she has deceived us all, let her go on thinking it for a little while.”

She left me alone and thoughtful.

Poor Jenny! I thought She is going to miss my father’s care and protection.

Later, when I went down to the servants' quarters I could not help overhearing their comments.

“That’s what comes of an old man trying to be a young one.”

“You don’t think that she…”

“Get away with you! But … I don’t know. I reckon he’s left her pretty comfortable. Well, if she wanted to be rid of him … and go off with some young man …”

I didn’t want to hear any more. It was so unkind, so unfair. My father had had a stroke, doubtless because he was trying to keep pace with Jenny’s youth, but that was his fault, not hers.

Suspicion crept into the house like a November fog.

The next day I saw the papers. “Sir Edward Delvaney dies from heart attack. Two months after his marriage to chorus girl, Miss Jenny Jay, Sir Edward Delvaney collapsed in his London residence. This will mean a by-election in the Lansella district of Cornwall, for which Sir Edward has been Member for the last ten years.”

Bevil, who had not yet left for South Africa, came to London for the funeral—to represent his family, he said. When Mrs, Trant told me that Mr. Menfrey had asked to see me, I ran down eagerly to the library. His face lit up when he saw me. I stood before him and he laid his hands on my shoulders and looked at me sadly.

“Poor Harriet,” he said. “It was so sudden.”

He was looking searchingly into my face; he knew, of course, what the relationship had been between my father and myself.

“It’s … bewildering,” I told him.

“Of course. We were horrified when we heard, and they all send their love to you. They want you to go to Menfreya if you would care to.”

I smiled rather wanly. “It’s good of them,” I replied.

“Gwennan is away at her French school of course.”

“Only the other day … he was saying I should join her there.”

“It’s a good idea. A complete break. Then come back and start afresh. That’s the best possible plan.”