As she spoke Jessie came in with the tea tray, and when she had gone out, and Grisel was pouring out the tea with sudden gaiety and high spirits, Barclay went on as if they had not been interrupted:
"That sounds almost as if you had things to bear."
Her eyes darkened. "Well, haven't I? After all, it's not very pleasant to have one's own father make such a ridiculous fool of himself as my father is doing. I suppose you saw that article in the Express yesterday?"
He nodded, "Yes, a very decent little article; the papers have behaved very well on the whole, considering that he is, well—your mother's husband."
She looked at him blankly and then understood. "Oh, mother's books you mean! Yes, I suppose that does make it a little better known, the divorce business, I mean—poor mother!"
"Why poor mother, Grisel?"
"The books, you know," she returned vaguely, stirring her tea. "They—they are so awful, John."
"Are they?"
She nodded. "Yes. So old-fashioned and sentimental and utterly unreal. I have not been able to get through one for years."