But though she advances two or three steps, she does not sit
down.
SIR WILLIAM. This is a sad business.
FREDA. [Below her breath] Yes, Sir William.
SIR WILLIAM. [Becoming conscious of the depths of feeling before
him] I--er--are you attached to my son?
FREDA. [In a whisper] Yes.
SIR WILLIAM. It's very painful to me to have to do this. [He turns
away from her and speaks to the fire.] I sent for you--to--ask--
[quickly] How old are you?
FREDA. Twenty-two.
SIR WILLIAM. [More resolutely] Do you expect me to sanction such a
mad idea as a marriage?
FREDA. I don't expect anything.
SIR WILLIAM. You know--you haven't earned the right to be considered.
FREDA. Not yet!
SIR WILLIAM. What! That oughtn't to help you! On the contrary. Now
brace yourself up, and listen to me!
She stands waiting to hear her sentence. SIR WILLIAM looks at
her; and his glance gradually wavers.
SIR WILLIAM. I've not a word to say for my son. He's behaved like a
scamp.
FREDA. Oh! no!
SIR WILLIAM. [With a silencing gesture] At the same, time--What
made you forget yourself? You've no excuse, you know.
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