"
"I am not jesting," she said, very quietly, her chin in her hand, her
blue eyes fixed on his unblushingly. "I am in the most sober, the most
serious earnest, I assure you."
He rose, then sank into the chair again, and sighed impatiently.
"Do you mean to say that you--that he--Confound it If ever there was a
man to be pitied, it is the one who has the honour to be your father,
Maude."
"Why?" she asked, calmly. "Have I not been a dutiful daughter? Have I
ever given you any trouble, deceived you? Am I not perfectly frank with
you at this moment?" He rose and paced to the mantel-shelf, and leaning
against it, looked down upon her, the frown still on his heavy face,
his hands thrust deeply in his pockets.
"You've always been a puzzle to me," he said, more to himself than to
her. "Ever since you were born I've felt uncertain about you--you're
like your mother. But never mind that. What game is this you're
carrying on?"
"One in which I mean to win," she replied, slowly, meditatively. "Have
you not seen--How slow to perceive, even you, a reputedly clever man,
can be! I don't suppose there is a woman in the house who has not
detected the fact that I am in love with Stafford Orme, though I have
tried to hide it from them--and you will admit that I am not a bad
actress.
Pages:
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316