He had never seen her look like that, never seen
her eyes so full of light. And he uttered a quiet grunt of satisfaction.
It was as if a flower, which he had last seen in close and elegant
shape, had bloomed in full perfection. She did not meet his gaze quite
steadily and all that evening kept putting her confession off and
off. It was not easy--far from easy. At last, when he was smoking his
"go-to-bed" cigarette, she took a cushion and sank down on it beside his
chair, leaning against his knee, where her face was hidden from him,
as on that day after her first ball, when she had listened to HIS
confession. And she began:
"Dad, do you remember my saying once that I didn't understand what you
and my mother felt for each other?" Winton did not speak; misgiving had
taken possession of him. Gyp went on: "I know now how one would rather
die than give someone up."
Winton drew his breath in sharply:
"Who? Summerhay?"
"Yes; I used to think I should never be in love, but you knew better."
Better!
In disconsolate silence, he thought rapidly: 'What's to be done? What
can I do? Get her a divorce?'
Perhaps because of the ring in her voice, or the sheer seriousness of
the position, he did not feel resentment as when he lost her to Fiorsen.
Love! A passion such as had overtaken her mother and himself! And this
young man? A decent fellow, a good rider--comprehensible! Ah, if the
course had only been clear! He put his hand on her shoulder and said:
"Well, Gyp, we must go for the divorce, then, after all.
Pages:
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307