“Well, it was my fault.”
“How?”
“I went to the South Seas, and then down into Mexico, and then on a yachting trip.”
“Well?”
“Dad was alone. He’s a peculiar combination. He’s crusty and hard-boiled, and down underneath he’s a rank sentimentalist.
“He’d been very happy with Mother, and Dad and I always got along like nobody’s business. His home life had been very happy, and it meant a lot to him. After Mother’s death — she had an independent fortune you know — her will left it divided between Dad and me. I was — oh, I suppose I’ve got to tell you. I was mixed up in a love affair that had given me a lot of heartbreak. I’m over it now, but for a while I didn’t think I’d ever get over it, and Dad told me to go ahead. I packed up and skipped out. When I came back, he was married.”
“How did it happen?” I asked.
“How do those things always happen?” she said bitterly. “Look at her! I don’t want to talk about her, but I don’t have to. You’ve seen her. How could a ball and chain like that get anyone to fasten herself onto? There’s only one way.”
I stared at her. “You mean a sort of blackmail. Do you mean—”
“Of course not,” she said. “Figure it out for yourself. The woman is a consummate actress. Didn’t you ever wonder, Donald, why it is that so many women who have strong individual characters and are just dandy good fellows never get married, while some nagging, whining piece of feminine humanity usually gets a pretty good husband?”