"Why should I mind that?"
"Oh, I can't explain! I'm afraid you're rather like her!" She looked up at a portrait on the wall. "I like your father. He knows just how I feel, and he would have liked me. Are you angry with me?"
He passed a hand across his eyes. "No, dear."
"Are you ashamed?"
"No, darling."
"What is it, then?"
"I love you."
"Does it hurt so much?" she whispered softly.
"Sometimes."
"Oh, dear. Would you like to do without me?"