"Papa," she interrupted him. "I have no illusions as to myself. It has
happened to me before but--"
Her voice failing her suddenly her father struck in with quite an
unwonted animation. "Let's make a rush for it, then."
Having mastered both her fright and her bitterness, she turned round, sat
down and allowed her astonishment to be seen. Mr. Smith sat down too,
his knees together and bent at right angles, his thin legs parallel to
each other and his hands resting on the arms of the wooden arm-chair. His
hair had grown long, his head was set stiffly, there was something
fatuously venerable in his aspect.
"You can't care for him. Don't tell me. I understand your motive. And
I have called you an unfortunate girl. You are that as much as if you
had gone on the streets. Yes. Don't interrupt me, Flora. I was
everlastingly being interrupted at the trial and I can't stand it any
more. I won't be interrupted by my own child. And when I think that it
is on the very day before they let me out that you . . . "
He had wormed this fact out of her by that time because Flora had got
tired of evading the question. He had been very much struck and
distressed. Was that the trust she had in him? Was that a proof of
confidence and love? The very day before! Never given him even half a
chance. It was as at the trial. They never gave him a chance. They
would not give him time. And there was his own daughter acting exactly
as his bitterest enemies had done. Not giving him time!
The monotony of that subdued voice nearly lulled her dismay to sleep. She
listened to the unavoidable things he was saying.
"But what induced that man to marry you? Of course he's a gentleman. One
can see that. And that makes it worse. Gentlemen don't understand
anything about city affairs--finance. Why!--the people who started the
cry after me were a firm of gentlemen. The counsel, the judge--all
gentlemen--quite out of it! No notion of . . . And then he's a sailor
too. Just a skipper--"
"My grandfather was nothing else," she interrupted. And he made an
angular gesture of impatience.
"Yes. But what does a silly sailor know of business? Nothing. No
conception. He can have no idea of what it means to be the daughter of
Mr. de Barral--even after his enemies had smashed him. What on earth
induced him--"
She made a movement because the level voice was getting on her nerves.
And he paused, but only to go on again in the same tone with the remark: