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It would be as useless as unpleasant to dilate on Mr. Heriton's disappointment and anger when Florence related the issue of her visit to Lieutenant Mason. He had anticipated so much from the interview that his vexation was excessive. Perhaps he scarcely acknowledged to himself the whole of the motives which influenced him when he insisted that his daughter should be the bearer of his note; but certain it is that he had secretly hoped much from the effect that he expected Florence's beauty and grace would have upon the gay and dissipated lieutenant.
His angry speeches, full of childish petulance, were heard in pitying silence, for Florence clearly saw what the end must be, and in her deep compassion for the utter wreck of his hopes forgot her annoyance at the folly with which he had suffered himself to be duped by every knave with whom he came in contact. But her forbearing affection would not calm his restless misery, and when two days elapsed without Lieutenant Mason fulfilling his promise of calling or writing, Mr. Heriton took to his bed, worn out with suspense and anxiety.