“What did he say, my angel?”
“He was wonderful,” she sighed. “I was right to tell him.”
“Of course you were,” he exclaimed fervently. “Will it hurt you to tell me exactly what he said about—about me—and father?”
“He anticipates grave trouble. I’ll tell you every word, when——”
“When?”
“When the trouble is over. He would rather not see you yet. His position is——”
“Humiliating! When I look at you——!”
“I don’t look my best this morning, a bedraggled thing!”
To this he replied vehemently:
“Joyce, my blessed girl, nothing can cheapen you or your father. Not prejudice, nor discourtesy—if it should come to that—nor injustice. I have told Margot. She was very sympathetic. Of course, she always regarded me as a friend. She will help, if she can. Her advice—and, mind you, she’s a dasher—is: Creep—crane—go canny! Father’s absurd position can’t be carried by storm. I shall undermine the fortress. That will take time.”