Nor did Aurelia
wake again till her father came to the door to make sure that all was
well with his recovered treasure, and to say that Loveday would
recover for her the box of clothes, which old Madge had hidden.
Loveday had gone back to her mistress, who either had not discovered
her betrayal, or, as things had turned out, could not resent it.
So, fresh and blooming, Aurelia came out into the sitting-room, whence
her father held out his arms to her. He would have her all to himself
for a little while, since even Eugene was gone to his daily delight,
the seeing the changing of the guard.
"And now, my child, tell me," he said, when he had heard a little of
her feelings through these adventures, "what would you have me do?
Remember, such a wedding as yours goes for nothing, and you are still
free to choose either or neither of your swains."
"Oh, papa!" in a remonstrating tone.
"You were willing to wed your old hermit?"
"I was content _then_. He was very kind to me."
"Content then, eh? Suppose you were told he was your real husband?"
"Sir, he is not!" cried Aurelia, frightened.
"If he were?"
"I would try to do my duty," she said, in a choked voice.
"Silly child, don't cry. And how, if after these fool's tricks it
turns out that the other young spark is bound to that red-faced
little spitfire and cannot have you?"
"Papa, don't!" she cried.
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