Only Felix Harrison! Must she pass all her life with him? Must her father and mother and Gus and Dine be not so much to her because Felix Harrison had become more—had become most? And Ralph Towne? Ought she to love Felix as she had loved him?
The hurried questions were answerless. She did not belong to herself; not any more to her father as she had belonged to him half an hour since with both her arms around his neck. Love constituted ownership, and she belonged to Felix through this mighty right of love; did he belong to her through the same divine right?
He was thanking God and so must she thank Him.
“Tessa,” called her father, “come here, daughter!”
With the candle in her hand, she stood in the door-way of the sitting-room. “Well,” she said.
“With whom were you closeted?” asked Mr. Hammerton, looking up from the chess-board.
The effort to speak in her usual tone lent to her voice a sharpness that startled herself.
“Felix Harrison.”
“Your old tormentor!” suggested Mr. Hammerton.
“Who ever called him that?” She came to the table, set the candlestick down and looked over the chess-board.