father called her into the library, and as he had when she first came back, fortified himself by placing the desk between them.
"Have you decided what you intend to do now?"
"That depends on you, father. If you need me"
He waved that aside with a gesture.
"Your mother," he said, and paused. "Your mother wished you to have full freedom of choice. You have followed your agreement with me, and"
"I did not stay only for that reason."
"I understand that. But I must know your plans now; I must know where I am. I have had an offer for this house. Of course, if you stay I shall not sell."
"You don't really need me at all, do you, father?"
"You cannot take your mother's place, but of course I shall miss you."
And again she caught that half-stealthy appealing glance of his, of which he was ashamed.
"On the other hand, if you wish to go back to that fellow—have you heard from him?"
"I had a telegram when mother went away."
"You have been corresponding?"
"No. I wrote him I was staying on, but he—never answered."
That angered him. His florid color, which had been subdued lately, rose high, he ran his finger inside his collar.
"And after an affront like that you are ready to go back to him! For God's sake, where is your pride? Are you going to tell me that a daughter of mine would force herself on a man who doesn't want her?"
The scene, for it amounted to that, went on. He was angry at Tom for not wanting her, but he would have been equally furious had he done so. She could not reason; after a time she could not even talk. It seemed to her that nobody really cared, except as a matter of pride, what she did. Except Herbert. She began to think of Herbert as at least representing peace, as against the truculence of her father and Tom's stormy nature. She was not startled therefore when he was brought into the conversation. A gentleman.
