“Daddy.”
The words: “D—n Daddy!” rose to his teeth; he bit them off, and said: “Bless him! We shall have to see to all that. Do you really want to keep it from him? It must be one way or the other; no use concealing it, if it's to come out later.”
“No.”
He stole a look at her. She was gazing straight before her. How damnably young she was, how pretty! A lump came up in his throat.
“I shouldn't do anything yet,” he said; “too early. Later on, if you'd like me to tell him. But that's entirely up to you, my dear; he need never know.”
“No.”
He could not follow her thought. Then she said:
“Gratian condemns Cyril. Don't let her. I won't have him badly thought of. It was my doing. I wanted to make sure of him.”
George answered stoutly:
“Gracie's upset, of course, but she'll soon be all right. You mustn't let it come between you. The thing you've got to keep steadily before you is that life's a huge wide adaptable thing. Look at all these people! There's hardly one of them who hasn't got now, or hasn't had, some personal difficulty or trouble before them as big as yours almost; bigger perhaps. And here they are as lively as fleas. That's what makes the fascination of life—the jolly irony of it all. It would do you good to have a turn in France, and see yourself in proportion to the whole.” He felt her fingers suddenly slip under his arm, and went on with greater confidence: