“I hope she is going to be happy in her own way,” said Quentillian.
The Canon’s brow instantly became thunderous again.
“Not one word, Owen, not one word on those lines,” he commanded sternly. “I appreciate your generosity deeply, but there is such a thing as carrying generosity too far.”
“I can see small generosity in relinquishing to someone else what is no longer mine.”
The Canon swept on, unheeding.
“My faith in my child has received a rude shock. Valeria is unfit for wifehood and motherhood. How can I let her undertake responsibility when she has proved herself unworthy up to the hilt? No, Owen, let it rest there. I will deal with Valeria, and may God help us both!”
Quentillian felt inclined to echo the petition whole-heartedly.
He could not doubt that the Canon’s misery was utterly unfeigned. So, also, was his wrath.
The incongruous sound of the dinner-gong vibrated violently through the room.
The Canon did not stir.