Ruth was silent.
Mr. Bannister sighed.
“I thought you were fond of me, Ruth,” he said wistfully. It was the wrestler yielding instead of resisting. Ruth’s hard composure melted instantly. She flung her arms round his neck in a burst of remorseful affection.
“Of course I am, father dear. You’re making this awfully hard for me.”
Mr. Bannister chuckled inwardly. It seemed to him that victory was in sight. He always won, he told himself, always.
“I only want you to be sensible.”
Ruth stiffened at the word. It jarred upon her. She felt that they were leagues apart, that they could never be in sympathy with each other.
“Father,” she said.
“Yes?”
“Would you like to see Kirk?”