“Love and logic have precious little to say to each other, as a rule,” replied Tormarin grimly. “To Judith, you’re the child of the woman who stole her lover away from her, so you can hardly expect her to feel an overwhelming affection for you.”
“The woman who stole her lover away from her?” repeated Jean slowly. “I don’t understand. What do you mean, Blaise?”
He glanced at her in some surprise.
“Surely—— Don’t you know the circumstances?”
She shook her head.
“No. I simply don’t know in the least what you are talking about. Please tell me.”
Tormarin made no response for a moment. He was standing with his back to the light, but as he lit a cigarette the flare of the match revealed a worried expression on his face, as though he deprecated the turn the conversation was taking.
“Oh, well,” he said at last, evading the point at issue, “it’s all ancient history now. Let it go. There’s never anything gained by digging up the dry bones of the past.” Jean’s mouth set itself in a mutinous line of determination. “Please tell me, Blaise,” she reiterated. “As it is something which concerns my father and a woman I shall probably be meeting fairly often in the future, I think I have a right to know about it.”
He shrugged his shoulders resignedly.
“Very well—if you insist. But I don’t think you’ll be any happier for knowing.” He paused. “Still inflexible?” She bent her head.