There was a pause.
“Are you very angry, father?”
“Why should I be? Let’s talk it over quietly. There’s no need to make a tragedy of it.”
“I’m glad you feel like that, father.”
John Bannister lit another cigar.
“Tell me all about it,” he said.
Ruth found herself surprisingly near tears. She had come into the room with every nerve in her body braced for a supreme struggle. Her father’s unexpected gentleness weakened her, exactly as he had foreseen. The plan of action which he had determined upon was that of the wrestler who yields instead of resisting, in order to throw an antagonist off his balance.
“How did it begin?” he asked.
“Well,” said Ruth, “it began when Aunt Lora took me to his studio.”
“Yes, I heard that it was she who set the whole thing going. She is a friend of this fellow—what is his name?”