ur temper ... your pride. You won't see that. You think
it's my fault that ..." Keith's excitement almost convinced Jenny.

"Shouting won't do any good," she said, deeply curious and overwhelmed
by her bewilderment.

"Pull yourself together, Jenny!" he urged. "Look at it from my side if
you can. Try! Imagine I've got a side, that is. And now I'll tell you
something about myself ... no lies; and you'll have to make the best of
the truth. The Truth!" Laughing, he kissed her; and Jenny, puzzled but
intrigued, withheld her indignation in order to listen to the promised
account. Keith began. "Well, Jenny: I told you I was thirty. I'm
thirty-one in a couple of months. I'll tell you the date, and you can
work me a sampler. And I was born in a place you've never set eyes
on--and I hope you never will set eyes on it. I was born in Glasgow. And
there's a smelly old river there, called the Clyde, where they launch
big ships ... a bit bigger than the _Minerva_. The _Minerva_ was built
in Holland. Well, my old father was a tough old chap--not a Scotchman,
though my mother was Scotch--with a big business in Glasgow. He was as
rich as--well, richer than anybody you ever met. Work that out! And he
was as tough as a Glasgow business man. They're a special kind. And I
was his little boy. He had no other little boys. You interested?"

Jenny nodded sharply, her breast against his, so that she felt every
breath he drew.

"Yes: well, my father was so keen that I should grow up into a Glasgow
business man that he nearly killed me. He hated me. Simply because when
I did anything it was always something away from the pattern--the plan.
D'you see? And he'd nearly beat my head in each time.... Yes, wasn't
it!... Well, when I was ten he and I had got into such a way that we
were sworn enemies. He'd got a strong will; but so had I, even though I
was such a kid. And I wouldn't--I couldn't--do what he told me to. And
when I was thirteen, I ran away. I'd always loved the river, and boats,
and so on; and I ran away from my old father. And he nearly went off his
head...and he brought me back. Didn't take him long to find me! That was
when I began to hate _him_. I'd only been afraid of him before; but I
was growing up. Well, he put me to a school where they watched me all
the time. I sulked, I worked, I did every blessed thing; and I grew
older still, and more afraid of my father, and somehow less afraid of
him, too. I got a sort of horror of him. I h