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."
He had turned from her again, and, with one shoulder a little raised, stood staring fixedly at a joint in the pipes.
"It's most distasteful to me," he said suddenly; "nothing could be more so. Son of that fellow—It's—it's—perverse!"
She had noted, almost unconsciously, that he did not say "son of that woman," and again her intuition began working.
Did the ghost of that grand passion linger in some corner of his heart?
She slipped her hand under his arm.