Scarcely moving her own, she murmured:
“Don't be angry, Father. I can't help it.”
But she could see he wasn't angry; only scared, deeply scared.
“I thought that foolishness,” he stammered, “was all forgotten.”
“Oh, no! It's ten times what it was.”
Soames kicked at the hot-water pipe. The hapless movement touched her, who had no fear of her father—none.
“Dearest!” she said. “What must be, must, you know.”
“Must!” repeated Soames. “You don't know what you're talking of. Has that boy been told?”
The blood rushed into her cheeks.
“Not yet.”