"What did you promise?"
"Oh, you know," he said uncomfortably. "Don't you see that if there is any—well, love-making between us, it makes me out a villain to them?"
"No, I don't see it," she said. "Not if I make you."
Jack began to sense that father and daughter had an exasperating trait in common, the inability to see a thing they did not wish to see. "I should be blamed, anyway," he said.
"But I'll tell everybody the truth," she said. "I'm not ashamed of you. They shall see that I have chosen you of my own free will."
"You have done harm enough," said Jack grimly. "Better not say anything more."
"I don't care," she whimpered. "I've got to love you."
Jack's face became hard. "I do care," he said. "Understand, we have got to cut all this out. No one, not even a woman, can make me do what I don't choose to do."
"Jack, don't speak to me like that," she murmured terrified.
"You brought it on yourself," he said miserably. "You always seem to make me stubborn and hateful."