"Have you had a letter from René?" was the first question she asked him when she had kissed him good-morning, with a perfunctory kiss that meant she was not in one of those affectionate moods which he found it so impossible to resist.
"Yes," he said shortly. "I'm going down to the Bank this morning, B. I'll see him there. I've told William to ask him to come on to the City when he comes here."
"Can't I see him first, Dad," she asked, "when he comes here?"
"No, darling. Look here, B, I didn't want to bother you last night. I was too pleased to see you again. But I don't want you to marry Lassigny. I don't like the idea of it at all."
She looked up at him with eyes wide open. "Why not, Dad?" she asked.
"I hate the idea of your marrying a Frenchman. I've never thought of such a thing. I wouldn't have asked him down to Abington if I had."
She looked down on her plate, and then looked up again. "You're not going to tell him we can't be married, are you?" she asked.
"I don't know what I'm going to tell him. I want to hear what he has to say first. That's only fair."
She seemed puzzled more than distressed. "I thought you liked him," she said. "I thought you only didn't like our getting engaged before he had spoken to you. You did like him at Abington, Dad; and he was a friend of Caroline's before he was a friend of mine. You didn't mind that. Why don't you want me to marry him? I love him awfully; and he loves me."
He was sorry he had said so much. He hadn't meant to say anything before his interview with Lassigny. But the idea that by a miracle Lassigny might prove himself worthy of her had faded; and her almost indifference towards him had made it not painful, as it would have been the night before, to throw a shadow over her expectations.