"You have no right to say that I expected you to get money out of that bally Wrandall woman—the goods merchant's daughter. That's downright insulting in you. I shan't let it go undefend—"
"You knew I couldn't lend you a thousand pounds, father," said she, very slowly and distinctly.
He coughed, perhaps in apology to her but more than likely to himself.
"You are at liberty," she went on, "to tell Mr. Leslie Wrandall all there is to tell about me. He doesn't know, but it won't matter much if he does have the truth concerning me. Tell him all if you like."
"My child," said he, with a fine display of wounded dignity, "I am not quite the rotter you think I am."
He did not feel called upon to explain to her that he had already borrowed a thousand pounds from her disappointed suitor, and was setting his nets for another thousand or two.
"It really won't matter," she said wearily. "Good-bye. I am leaving at nine to-morrow for Italy."
"See you at dinner? Or afterward, just for a—"
"I think not. I do not care to see Mr. Wrandall."
"Think it over again, Hetty. Don't—"