DADDY'S GIRL

CHAPTER I.


Philip Ogilvie and his pretty wife were quarrelling, as their custom
was, in the drawing-room of the great house in Belgrave Square, but
the Angel in the nursery upstairs knew nothing at all about that. She
was eight years old, and was, at that critical moment when her father
and mother were having words which might embitter all their lives, and
perhaps sever them for ever, unconsciously and happily decorating
herself before the nursery looking-glass.

The occasion was an important one, and the Angel's rosebud lips were
pursed up in her anxiety, and her dark, pretty brows were somewhat
raised, and her very blue eyes were fixed on her own charming little
reflection.