‘You love him.’
‘Of course I do,—he is the best of fathers.’
‘Your defection will be a grievous disappointment.’
I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. I wondered what was passing through his mind. The subject of my relations with papa was one which, without saying anything at all about it, we had consented to taboo.
‘I am not so sure. I am permeated with a suspicion that papa has no politics.’
‘Miss Lindon!—I fancy that I can adduce proof to the contrary.’
‘I believe that if papa were to marry again, say, a Home Ruler, within three weeks his wife’s politics would be his own.’
Paul thought before he spoke; then he smiled.
‘I suppose that men sometimes do change their coats to please their wives,—even their political ones.’
‘Papa’s opinions are the opinions of those with whom he mixes. The reason why he consorts with Tories of the crusted school is because he fears that if he associated with anybody else—with Radicals, say,—before he knew it, he would be a Radical too. With him, association is synonymous with logic.’