“Oh,” she cried brokenly, “don’t ask me, papa, I—I can’t make you understand, you—you’re a man, you can’t! I—I wish I had a—a mother!” she sobbed, covering her face with her hands.
The judge was profoundly touched. He felt that his girl was ill in body and mind, and he had driven her too hard, he had tried to force her to act before she was ready, he had seemed to fling her into the arms of her lover. That cry for her mother—he had never heard her utter it before, it reached his heart. He went over to her quickly and took her in his arms.
“I’ve been too hasty, my child,” he said kindly. “You must rest—then we’ll talk it over. You——” he hesitated before he added grimly: “I know how you feel, but you’re not to blame. Overton has always loved you. It’s not his fault now, it’s not yours. If you can’t live with your husband you’ve got a right to be free, and I’m going to set you free. You leave it to me, Diane!”
This time his tenderness did not disarm her, she did not yield to his caress, instead she gave him a strange look, a look that was full of sadness, and slipped quietly out of his arms.
“I—I feel tired,” she said in her low voice, “I can’t argue now, papa, I——” she turned suddenly and lifted her face to his and kissed him—“I’m going up to my room to—to think!”
He stood watching her, taken by surprise. She was walking slowly, almost unsteadily, toward the door and he saw that she was weeping. Something in the way in which she had parted from him, something, too, in the whole attitude of her figure, alarmed him. He called to her sharply.
“Diane!”
She stopped at the door and looked back, her face colorless again, and tears in her eyes.
“Understand me,” said the judge sternly, “I’ve told you before. There’s but one thing for you to do—or for me to do for you. To get free of that coward. If you’re dreaming of going back, if he’s worked on you to go back—remember! I’ll disown you.”
His tone, more than his words, sent a chill to her heart, but she said nothing. She only gave him a look so full of a mute appeal, and that mysticism, that withdrawal, which had so perplexed him a moment ago, that he could not fathom her purpose. Then, without a word, she turned slowly and left the room and he heard her step—still slow but more resolute—ascending the stairs.