The mother of Florimel had died when she was a mere
child, and from that time she had been at school until
her father brought her away to share his fresh honours.
She knew little, that little was not correct, and
had it been, would have yet been of small value.
At school she had been under many laws, and had felt
their slavery: she was now in the third heaven
of delight with her liberty. But the worst of
foolish laws is, that when the insurgent spirit casts
them off, it is but too ready to cast away with them
the genial self-restraint which these fretting trammels
have smothered beneath them.
Her father regarded her as a child, of whom it was
enough to require that she should keep out of mischief.
He said to himself now and then that he must find
a governess for her; but as yet he had not begun to
look for one. Meantime he neither exercised the
needful authority over her, nor treated her as a companion.
His was a shallow nature, never very pleasantly conscious
of itself except in the whirl of excitement, and the
glitter of crossing lights: with a lovely daughter
by his side, he neither sought to search into her
being, nor to aid its unfolding, but sat brooding over
past pleasures, or fancying others yet in store for
him—lost in the dull flow of life along
the lazy reach to whose mire its once tumultuous torrent
had now descended. But, indeed, what could such
a man have done for the education of a young girl?
How many of the qualities he understood and enjoyed
in women could he desire to see developed in his daughter?
There was yet enough of the father in him to expect
those qualities in her to which in other women he
had been an insidious foe; but had he not done what
in him lay to destroy his right of claiming such from
her?
So Lady Florimel was running wild, and enjoying it.
As long as she made her appearance at meals, and looked
happy, her father would give himself no trouble about
her. How he himself managed to live in those
first days without company—what he thought
about or speculated upon, it were hard to say.
All he could be said to do was to ride here and there
over the estate with his steward, Mr Crathie, knowing
little and caring less about farming, or crops, or
cattle. He had by this time, however, invited
a few friends to visit him, and expected their arrival
before long.
“How do you like this dull life, Flory?”
he said, as they walked up the garden to breakfast.
“Dull, papa!” she returned. “You
never were at a girls’ school, or you wouldn’t
call this dull. It is the merriest life in the
world. To go where you like, and have miles of
room! And such room! It’s the loveliest
place in the world, papa!”
He smiled a small, satisfied smile, and stooping stroked
his Demon.
CHAPTER XIV: MEG PARTAN’S LAMP
Malcolm went down the riverside, not over pleased
with the marquis; for, although unconscious of it
as such, he had a strong feeling of personal dignity.
