At this odd and novel mixture of kindness and queerness she felt her words choking her, as much with fear as anything.
"We—we never have understood each other," she found herself saying.
He looked startled.
"What? You don't mean to say you—But I'm your father."
"I suppose that's the reason."
"I have always tried to do my duty."
"The trouble is, you succeeded."
"What!" he exclaimed. "Do you actually mean to say you—ah—didn't appreciate my duty?"
She was sitting by his side on the sofa, her eyes downcast and her lips obstinately set. Never before in her life had she stood up to him like this, but now that she had begun she was discovering to her surprise that she had more of her father's temper than she had dreamt of.
"No," she said. "I didn't sometimes."