“Yes, he’s written me,” she confessed simply; “he has a right to do that, he’s—my husband.”
The judge gave utterance to an inarticulate sound. He was, in reality, choking with anger.
Diane saw it; she felt an almost intolerable longing to escape, to be alone to order her thoughts, but she could not bear to incur her father’s anger, he had been so good to her! She had fled to him in her darkest hour and he had sheltered her. She hated to offend him, she stood irresolute, unable to voice her thoughts.
Meanwhile, the old man swallowed the lump in his throat.
“I knew it!” he exclaimed bitterly. “He’s been trading on your pity, on your woman’s heart—confound him! Di, you want to be free, you’ve said so—why did you mortify me just now? You made that boy think I was trying to force you to sign a paper against your will. You made a fool of your father because that—that coward’s been begging off!”
“No, no!” she cried sharply, “it wasn’t that—he’s said nothing cowardly, papa, nothing that—that he shouldn’t say to his wife. It is I—I have changed, I——” she stopped, breathing quickly, and then she added more quietly: “you know what I said, papa—what would you do if I went back to my husband?”
The judge stood looking at her for a long time in silence, his face flushing darkly. Then he broke out with passion.
“I’ve told you that, too! I’d disown you.”
She put her hand to her side with a quick gesture of pain, and all the soft color left her face, even her lips grew white.
“Do you mean that?”