It was as if she had grown right past her father into something older and of infinitely wider outlook, as if he had always been unsuspectedly a flattened figure, and now she had discovered him from the other side. “Forgive me,” he decided to say at last, and his voice had a little quiver of emotion, and he laid his hand on hers upon her knee. He groaned, much to Melusine’s relief. It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt. “I wonder which of us enjoys that most,” said Capes—“does he, or do we?” “He seems to get a zest—” “He does it and forgets it. ‘I’ll make it, miss. Blood, they say, won't come out. ” “No, I don’t.
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