Mr. Smith shook his head slightly. And Anthony, trying to be friendly,
was just saying that he proposed to keep the ship away from home for at
least two years. "I think, sir, that from every point of view it would
be best," when Flora came back and the conversation, cut short in that
direction, languished and died. Later in the evening, after Anthony had
been gone for hours, on the point of separating for the night, Mr. Smith
remarked suddenly to his daughter after a long period of brooding:
"A will is nothing. One tears it up. One makes another." Then after
reflecting for a minute he added unemotionally: "One tells lies about it."
Flora, patient, steeled against every hurt and every disgust to the point
of wondering at herself, said: "You push your dislike of--of--Roderick
too far, papa. You have no regard for me. You hurt me."
He, as ever inexpressive to the point of terrifying her sometimes by the
contrast of his placidity and his words, turned away from her a pair of
faded eyes.
"I wonder how far your dislike goes," he began. "His very name sticks in
your throat. I've noticed it. It hurts me. What do you think of that?
You might remember that you are not the only person that's hurt by your
folly, by your hastiness, by your recklessness." He brought back his
eyes to her face. "And the very day before they were going to let me
out." His feeble voice failed him altogether, the narrow compressed lips
only trembling for a time before he added with that extraordinary
equanimity of tone, "I call it sinful."
Flora made no answer. She judged it simpler, kinder and certainly safer
to let him talk himself out. This, Mr. Smith, being naturally taciturn,
never took very long to do. And we must not imagine that this sort of
thing went on all the time. She had a few good days in that cottage. The
absence of Anthony was a relief and his visits were pleasurable. She was
quieter. He was quieter too. She was almost sorry when the time to join
the ship arrived. It was a moment of anguish, of excitement; they
arrived at the dock in the evening and Flora after "making her father
comfortable" according to established usage lingered in the state-room
long enough to notice that he was surprised. She caught his pale eyes
observing her quite stonily. Then she went out after a cheery
good-night.
Contrary to her hopes she found Anthony yet in the saloon. Sitting in
his arm-chair at the head of the table he was picking up some business
papers which he put hastily in his breast pocket and got up. He asked
her if her day, travelling up to town and then doing some shopping, had
tired her. She shook her head. Then he wanted to know in a half-jocular
way how she felt about going away, and for a long voyage this time.