The monotony of that subdued voice nearly lulled her dismay to sleep. She listened to the unavoidable things he was saying.
“But what induced that man to marry you? Of course he’s a gentleman. One can see that. And that makes it worse. Gentlemen don’t understand anything about city affairs—finance. Why!—the people who started the cry after me were a firm of gentlemen. The counsel, the judge—all gentlemen—quite out of it! No notion of . . . And then he’s a sailor too. Just a skipper—”
“My grandfather was nothing else,” she interrupted. And he made an angular gesture of impatience.
“Yes. But what does a silly sailor know of business? Nothing. No conception. He can have no idea of what it means to be the daughter of Mr. de Barral—even after his enemies had smashed him. What on earth induced him—”
She made a movement because the level voice was getting on her nerves. And he paused, but only to go on again in the same tone with the remark:
“Of course you are pretty. And that’s why you are lost—like many other poor girls. Unfortunate is the word for you.”
She said: “It may be. Perhaps it is the right word; but listen, papa. I mean to be honest.”
He began to exhale more speeches.
“Just the sort of man to get tired and then leave you and go off with his beastly ship. And anyway you can never be happy with him. Look at his face. I want to save you. You see I was not perhaps a very good husband to your poor mother. She would have done better to have left me long before she died. I have been thinking it all over. I won’t have you unhappy.”
He ran his eyes over her with an attention which was surprisingly noticeable. Then said, “H’m! Yes. Let’s clear out before it is too late. Quietly, you and I.”