"Please—Brigit——"
"Then tell me that you love me. You can't have stopped—it is only a week since the wedding—I—can't bear this——"
But her mistaken line of conduct brought its inevitable punishment. "This is—absurd," he said coldly, "and—undignified. I told you at Falaise that I was ashamed of myself for being jealous of my son. It was monstrous and hideous. I think I have been not quite in my right mind for some time. But I have a strong will and can force myself to anything——"
"And you are forcing yourself to kill your love for me——"
"No. I am trying to learn to love you as a—a daughter, and I am beginning to succeed. But if you insist in making scenes like this——" He broke off and gave his shoulders an expressive shrug. "It is—not womanly."
Then, breaking the yellow rose from the bush, he drew its stem through his button-hole and strolled leisurely away, whistling under his breath.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
For two days Brigit Mead remained in her room, refusing to see anyone. Tommy, who had reached the period when convalescents sleep most of the time, was told that she was resting, and that he must be very good and eat a great deal, with a view to surprising her by his progress when she reappeared.
But the girl was not resting.