rl Flora has gone and married
some man or other, perhaps a fool, how do I know; or perhaps--anyway not
good enough."

"Stop, papa."

"A silly love affair as likely as not," he continued monotonously, his
thin lips writhing between the ill-omened sunk corners. "And a very
suspicious thing it is too, on the part of a loving daughter."

She tried to interrupt him but he went on till she actually clapped her
hand on his mouth. He rolled his eyes a bit but when she took her hand
away he remained silent.

"Wait. I must tell you . . . And first of all, papa, understand this,
for everything's in that: he is the most generous man in the world. He
is . . . "

De Barral very still in his corner uttered with an effort "You are in
love with him."

"Papa! He came to me. I was thinking of you. I had no eyes for
anybody. I could no longer bear to think of you. It was then that he
came. Only then. At that time when--when I was going to give up."

She gazed into his faded blue eyes as if yearning to be understood, to be
given encouragement, peace--a word of sympathy. He declared without
animation "I would like to break his neck."

She had the mental exclamation of the overburdened.

"Oh my God!" and watched him with frightened eyes. But he did not appear
insane or in any other way formidable. This comforted her. The silence
lasted for some little time. Then suddenly he asked:

"What's your name then?"

For a moment in the profound trouble of the task before her she did not
understand what the question meant. Then, her face faintly flushing, she
whispered: "Anthony."

Her father, a red spot on each cheek, leaned his head back wearily in the
corner of the cab.

"Anthony. What is he? Where did he spring from?"

"Papa, it was in the country, on a road--"

He groaned, "On a road," and closed his eyes.

"It's too long to explain to you now. We shall have lots of time. There
are things I could not tell you now. But some day. Some day. For now
nothing can part us. Nothing. We are safe as long as we live--nothing
can ever come between us."

"You are infatuated with the fellow," he remarked, without opening his
eyes. And she said: "I believe in him," in a low voice. "You and I must
believe in him."

"Who the devil is he?"

"He's the brother of the lady--you know Mrs. Fyne, she knew mother--who
was so kind to me. I was staying in the country, in a cottage, with Mr.
and Mrs. Fyne. It was there