He lifted his head and raised his hands to heaven.
A sob leaped in her throat and tears sprang in her eyes as she rose and bent toward him over the table.
“If you mention her again I shall punish you, Ezra Dameron.”
He did not heed her, but began speaking with a haste his tongue had rarely known. The smile that forever haunted his lips vanished.
“She loved another man when she married me. I knew it well enough; but I was glad to marry her on any terms. She was a beautiful woman,—a very beautiful woman;” and the anger died suddenly from his eyes and voice. Zelda wondered whether he was really touched by the thought of her mother or whether the little flame of passion had merely burned out. As he continued speaking she listened, as though he had been an actor impersonating a part, and doing it ill, so that he presented no illusion to her eyes. She was thinking, too, of her own future; of the morrow in which she must plan her life anew. She thought of Morris Leighton now, and with an intenseness that made her start when her father spoke his name.
“You have been a better daughter to me than I could have asked. An inscrutable Providence has ordered things strangely, but—” and he chuckled and wagged his head, “but,—very wisely and satisfactorily. I suppose your Uncle Rodney thought a marriage between you and his young friend Leighton would be an admirable arrangement; but you have done as I would have you do in rejecting him. Ah, I understood,—I was watching you—I knew that you were leading him on to destroy him.”
“I should like to know what right you have to speak to me of such a matter in such a tone. He is a gentleman.”
“He is; he is, indeed;” and Dameron laughed harshly. “He is a gentleman beyond any doubt; but you refused him, just as I knew you would. The force of heredity is very strong. You are a dutiful daughter; you even anticipated my wishes. Your conduct is exemplary. I am delighted.”
“I think you are mad,” said Zelda, looking at him wonderingly. She had begun to feel the strain of events of the few hours since she had gone to her uncle’s house; she was utterly weary and her father’s strange manner had awakened a fear in her. Perhaps he was really mad. She walked toward the door; but he was timing his climax with a shrewd cunning.
“When your mother was engaged to Morris Leighton, the elder,”—and he paused, knowing that she had turned quickly and was staring at him with wonder and dread in her eyes,—“when your mother was engaged to this young man’s father,” he repeated, “your uncle was greatly pleased. But she was not so easily caught!”