Then she shrugged. Sensing his discomfort, she stood up and brushed lint off of the hem of her gray miniskirt. He played variations on this theme for the better part of an hour. Then her white teeth gleamed, and her excuse for remaining any longer before that little marble table was gone. “Perhaps,” he said, “I have been to blame. Why? He could preach the Word and deny Love!—tame the savage heart, succour broken white men!—pray with his face strained with religious fervour! The idea made her dizzy because it was so inexplicable. Even her debt to him was a triviality now. I am guilty practically of the impertinence of coming to ask you whether I misunderstood your sister. “Not a bit. . If it is that I am in the least French, and that you do not like it—’ ‘I don’t like it,’ snapped the old man. She turned the gas up in her little sitting-room, and sank wearily into an easy chair. “But, dear, think! He is your father.
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