“He is your father, isn’t he?”
She shook her head slowly:
“Sometimes, when he is intoxicated, he says that he isn’t. And once he added that my name is not Soane but Fane.”
“Did you question him?”
“No. He only cries when he is that way.... Or talks about Ireland’s wrongs.”
“Ask him some time.”
“I have asked him when he was sober. But he denied ever saying it.”
“Then ask him when he’s the other way. I—well, to be frank, Dulcie, you haven’t the slightest resemblance to your father—not the slightest—not in any mental or physical particular.”
“He says I’m like mother.”