‘But I don’t quite understand, father. What do you mean about Mr. Kirkwood? Why should he—’
The impulse failed her. A fear which she had harboured for many weary days was being confirmed and she could not ask directly for the word that would kill hope.
‘Have I a right to tell you? I thought perhaps you understood.’
‘As you have gone so far, I think you must explain. I don’t see how you can be doing wrong.’
‘Poor Kirkwood! You see, he’s in such a delicate position, my dear. I think myself that he’s acting rather strangely, after everything; but it’s—it’s your money, Jane. He doesn’t think he ought to ask you to marry him, under the circumstances.’
She trembled.
‘Now who should stand by you, in a case like this, if not your own father? Of course he can’t say a word to you himself; and of course you can’t say a word to him; and altogether it’s a pitiful business.’
Jane shrank from discussing such a topic with her father. Her next words were uttered with difficulty.
‘But the money isn’t my own—it’ll never be my own. He—Mr. Kirkwood knows that.’
‘He does, to be sure. But it makes no difference. He has told your grandfather, my love, that—that the responsibility would be too great. He has told him distinctly that everything’s at an end—everything that might have happened.’