"Beryl, you are twenty-two and very beautiful. I may be biased but I hardly think I am. I have seen many lovely women in my life and you could hold your own with any of them. Do you ever think of getting married?"
She tried hard to control herself, but the color in her face deepened and faded.
"I haven't thought much about it," she said. "There are two parties to a marriage, daddy."
"Are you fond of anybody? I mean are you, in your heart—committed to any one man?"
A pause, then: "No."
"I'm glad," said her father, relieved. "Very glad—you must look for something in a man which fellows like Ronnie Morelle can never give to a woman—power, fortune, mental strength and stability—come along."
She followed him to the car dumb with astonishment, but not at that moment apprehensive. She knew that he had been talking of Jan Steppe.
VI
Mr. Steppe had a house in Berkeley Square which he rented from its lordly owner. Beryl had dined there before, and it had been a baffling experience, for in no respect did the personality of the tenant find an opportunity of expressing itself. The furnishings and the color schemes of the landlord had been left as they had been found, and since the atmosphere of the place was late Victorian, Mr. Steppe was unconformable to his surroundings.