But my father was not consistent, neither was he humble. He behaved like a man who not only desired the office of a Bishop, but was actually a whole bench of them at that moment, and intended therefore to 'have his children in subjection with all gravity.' He said he'd never in all his life heard anything quite so preposterous, he'd hardly seen the hulking chap (we do not see ourselves as others see us. Michael is an inch and a half shorter than father), never even noticed if he ate with his knife or not, so was it likely that——'
'But, father, Dante——'
'Yes, but he didn't marry the girl, as you've often said, Meg.'
Thus did I fall into my own pit, and in the net which I had spread for another were my own feet taken. The Bench of Bishops preferred not to discuss the subject further, so I went upstairs to bed in utter desolation, because I couldn't give up Michael even though father was so displeased with me.
But when he came upstairs ages afterwards he scratched on my door and said,—
'Are you Meg?'
'Oh, daddy, of course I am.'
He came in then. 'How many?' he asked.
'Four.'
'Oh, darling! never in all the years do I remember any tragedy that took more than three, even when you were so worried about "Adam-and-Eve's" family!'