"Is my father playing the game?" questioned the girl, with a shrug.
"No," answered Rupert decidedly, "he isn't. And it is that which makes it so hard for me to be frank. After all, your father is your father, dear, and I have no right to say anything which will lower him in your esteem."
Dorinda laughed rather sadly. "Dear, I have no illusions left about my father," she said, in a low tone, "he has never been a father to me, as you know very well. I have tried my best to respect and love him, but his actions and life are such that I can do neither. Be as open with me as you can, Rupert, for you know that my father will not spare either of us where his own feelings are at stake. Therefore, it only seems fair to me that we should not spare him, more than is necessary, on account of my unfortunate relationship to him."
"Do you really think so, Dorinda?"
"Yes, I do. If my father deserved filial affection, he should have it. But, as he has made no attempt to secure it, how can I give it to him? And remember, you are to be my husband and your interests are mine, even though my father's selfish desires intervene. You have the greatest claim on me."
Rupert heaved a sigh of relief. "I am so glad to hear you say that," he remarked thankfully, "for I badly need some one who can help me and sympathize with me. I thought Carrington would prove to be a pal, but, like everyone else, he is eaten up with greed for money."
"What makes you say that?"
"He said that he would only help me on condition that I paid him."
"Ah-r-r-r," said Dorinda, much disgusted. "I told you that I did not like him, Rupert. He is a bad man."
"Oh, not so bad as that, dear. A little greedy perhaps, but not wholly bad."