Daddy's Girl Part 11

"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, G.o.d 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."

These thoughts came and worried him; presently he rose with a laugh.

"What am I," he said to himself, "to have my way disturbed by the words of a mere child?" And just then he heard the soft rustle of a silk dress, and, looking up, he saw the pretty face of Mrs. Ogilvie.

"Come in and sit down," he said, jumping up and offering her a chair.

"It is cool and yet not draughty in here. I have just had the pleasure of a conversation with your little daughter."

"Indeed! I do hope she has been conducting herself properly."

"I must not repeat what she said; I can only a.s.sure you that she behaved charmingly."

"I am so relieved; Sibyl so often does not behave charmingly, that you don't wonder that I should ask you the question."

"She has a very great respect for you," said Lord Grayleigh; "it makes me think you a better woman to have a child regard you as she does."

Mrs. Ogilvie fidgeted; she had seated herself on a low rustic chair, and she looked pretty and elegant in her white summer dress, and her hat softening the light in her beautiful eyes. She toyed with her white lace parasol, and looked, as Sibyl had looked a short time ago, across the lovely summer scene; but in her eyes there shone the world with all its temptations and all its lures, and Sibyl's had made acquaintance with the stars, and the lofty peaks of high principle, and honor, and knew nothing of the real world.

Lord Grayleigh, in a kind of confused way which he did not himself understand, noticed the difference in the glance of the child and the woman.

"Your little girl has the highest opinion of you," he repeated; "the very highest."

"And I wish she would not talk or think such nonsense," said Mrs.

Ogilvie, in a burst of irritation. "You know well that I am not what Sibyl thinks me. I am an ordinary, everyday woman. I hope I am"--she smiled--"charming."

"You are that, undoubtedly," said the n.o.bleman, slightly bowing his head.

"I hope I am what a man most likes in a woman, agreeable, charming, and fairly amiable; but I am no saint, and I don't want to be. Sibyl's att.i.tude towards me is therefore most irritating, and I am doing my utmost----"

"You are doing what?" said Lord Grayleigh. He rose, and stood by the summer-house door.

"To open her eyes."

"I would not if I were you," he said, gravely; "it is not often that a child has her faith. To shake it means a great deal."

"What are you talking about now?"

"I don't often read my Bible," he continued, "but, of course, I did as a boy--most boys do. My mother was a good woman. I am thinking of something said in that Holy Book."

"You are quite serious; I never knew you in this mood before."