“Suicide,” said Hilda gravely, “is not always a matter of calculation, but often the act of a moment of frenzy,—at least so it will be in Gertrude Hemster’s case if her father now attempts to draw tight the reins of authority. He will madden her, and you have no conception of the depth of bitterness that is in her nature. If it occurs to her in her next extravagant tantrum that by killing herself she will break her father’s heart, which undoubtedly would be the case, she is quite capable of plunging into the sea, or sending a revolver bullet through her head. I have been convinced of this for some time past, but I never thought her father would be so ill-advised as to change the drifting line of conduct he has always held in regard to her.”
“My dear Hilda, you are not consistent. Do you remember an occasion, which to tell the truth I am loth to recall, when you said if her father treated her as I had done her character would be much more amiable than it now appears to be?”
“I don’t think I said that, Mr. Tremorne. I may have hinted that if her father had taken a more strenuous attitude in the past, he would not have such a difficult task before him in the present, or I may have said that a husband might tame the shrew. The latter, I believe, would lead to either a reformation or the divorce court, I don’t quite know which. Or perhaps even then there might be a tragedy; but it would be the husband who would suffer, not herself. A man she married might control her. It would really be an interesting experiment, and no one can predict whether it would turn out well or ill; but her father cannot control her because all these years of affectionate neglect are behind him, years in which he was absorbed in business, leaving the forming of her character to hirelings, thinking that because he paid them well they would do their duty, whereas the high salary merely made them anxious to retain their positions at any cost of flattery and indulgence to their pupil.”
“Then, Hilda, why don’t you speak to him about it? You have known him for more years than I have days, and I am sure he would take it kindlier from you than from me.”
“To tell you the truth, I have spoken to him. I spoke to him last night when we were both waiting for that flare from the shore at Chemulpo. I could not tell whether my talk had any effect or not, for he said nothing, beyond thanking me for my advice. I see to-day that it has had no effect. So now I beg you to try.”
“But if you failed, how could I hope to succeed?”
“I’ll tell you why. In the first place because you are the cause of this change of attitude on the part of Mr. Hemster.”
“I the cause?”
“Certainly. He has undoubtedly a great liking for you, in spite of the fact that he has known you so short a time. In some unexplainable way he has come to look at his daughter through your eyes, and I think he is startled at the vision he has seen. But he does not take sufficient account of the fact that he is not dealing now with a little girl, but with a grown woman. I noticed the gradual change in his manner during our stay at the Palace, and it became much more marked on the way back to Chemulpo, after we had left you alone battling with the savages of Seoul. You have said you were in no real danger, but Mr. Hemster did not think so, and he seemed greatly impressed by the fact that a comparative stranger should cheerfully insist on jeopardizing his life for the safety of our party, and to my deep anxiety his demeanour toward his daughter was at first severe and then harsh, for he roundly accused her of being the cause of our difficulties. I shall pass over the storm that ensued, merely saying that it took our whole force to prevent Miss Hemster from returning to Seoul.”