Dr. Derwent murmured his next words.
"I, too, have a share in the blame of all this."
"You, father?"
"I knew the man better than you did or could. I shirked a difficult duty. But one reason why I did so, was that I felt in doubt as to your mind. The fact that you were my daughter did not alter the fact that you were a woman, and I could not have any assurance that I understood you. If there had been a question of his life, his intellectual powers, his views—I would have said freely just what I thought. But there was no need; no objection rose on that score; you saw the man, from that point of view, much as I did—only with a little more sympathy. In other respects, I trusted to what we call women's instinct, women's perceptiveness. To me, he did not seem your natural mate; but then I saw with man's eyes; I was afraid of meddling obtusely."
"Don't reproach yourself, father. The knowledge I have gained could only have come to me in one way."
"Of course he will turn to me, in appeal against you."
"If so, it will be one more proof how rightly I am acting."
The Doctor smiled, all but laughed.
"Considering how very decent a fellow he is, your mood seems severe, Irene. Well, you have made up your mind. It's an affair of no small gravity, and we must get through it as best we can. I have no doubt whatever it's worse for you than for anyone else concerned."
"It is so bad for me, father, that, when I have gone through it, I shall be at the end of my strength. I shall run away from the after consequences."