She went quickly to the library. From the table Mr. Lancaster raised a face whose haggard aspect almost made her cry out—so aged it was, so stricken with trouble. She closed the door, went over to the table, and halted opposite him.
"Father, do you really wish me to marry Mr. Bullard?"
"My child, life—everything—is uncertain, and so—and so I would see you provided for."
"I am not afraid of poverty—compared with some things." She nerved herself. "Father, you and I used to be frank with each other. Will it—help you if I marry Mr. Bullard?"
The man writhed. "Yes, Doris," he whispered at last.
"In what way?" Again she had to wait for his reply.
"It—it would save me…"
"Save you?"
"…from a grave difficulty…"
"Difficulty?"