Alice Lorraine: A Tale of the South Downs

								

You know that I do not very often act rashly; but you will make me
think I have done so now, unless you behave most steadily.”
“Papa, I am steadiness itself; but you must make allowance for a little
upset at the marvels heaped upon me.”
“My dear child, there are no marvels; or, at any rate, none for you to
know. All you have to do is to go, and to fetch a certain document.
Whether you know any more about it, is a question for me to consider.”
“Oh, papa--to raise me up so, and to cast me down like that! And I was
giving you credit for having trusted me so entirely! And very likely
you would not even have sent me for this document, if you had your own
way about it.”
“Alice,” Sir Roland answered, smiling at her knowledge of him, “you
happen to be particularly right in that conjecture. I should never
have thought of sending you to a lonely and forsaken place, if I were
allowed to send any one else, or to go myself. And I have not been
happy at thinking about it, ever since the morning.”
“My father, do you think that I could help rejoicing in such an errand?
It is the very thing to suit me. Where are the keys, papa? Do be quick.”
“I have no intention, my dear child, of hurrying either you or myself.
There is plenty of time to think of all things. The sun has not set,
and that happens to be one of the little things we have to look to.”
“Oh, how very delightful, papa! That makes it so much more beautiful.
And it is the astrologer’s room, of course.”
“My dear, it strikes me that you look rather pale, in the midst of all
your transports. Now, don’t go if you are at all afraid.”
“Afraid, papa! Now you want to provoke me. You quite forget both my
age, it appears, and the family I belong to.”
“My pet, you never allow us to be very long forgetful of either of
those great facts; but I trust I have borne them both duly in mind, and
I fear that I should even enhance, most needlessly, your self-esteem,
if I were to read you the directions which I now am following. For,
strangely enough, they do contain predictions as to your character such
as we cannot yet perceive (much as we love you) to have come to pass.”
“Oh, but who are the ‘we,’ papa? If everybody knows it--even
grandmamma, for instance--what pleasure can I hope to find in ever
having been predicted?”
“You may enjoy that pleasure, Alice, as exclusively as you please. Even
your grandmother knows nothing of the matter we have now in hand; or
else--at least I should say perhaps that, if it were otherwise----”
“She would have been down here, of course, papa, and have marched up
to the room herself; but, if the whole thing belongs to one’s self,
nothing can be more delightful than to have been predicted, especially
in glowing terms, such as I beg you now, papa, to read in glowing tones
to me.”
“Alice, I do not like that style of--what shall I call it?--on your