'What did you say?' asked Mildred, breathlessly.
'I went and stood by his chair when I ought to have left the room; that was a mistake, was it not?' with a low, bitter laugh. 'I think I touched his sleeve, for he drew it away with a look of surprise. "Papa," I said; "I cannot bear this any longer. I do not feel as though I were your child when you never look at me voluntarily."'
'And what was his answer?'
'"Ethel, you know I hate scenes, they simply disgust me."'
'Only that!'
'No. I was turning away when he called me back in his sternest manner.'
'"Your reproach is unseemly under the circumstances, but it shall be answered," he said, and his voice was so hard and cold. "It is my misfortune that you are my child, for you have never done anything but disappoint me. Now, do not interrupt me," as I made some faint exclamation. "I have not withheld my confidence; you know my ambition, and also that I have lately sustained some very heavy losses; in default of a son I have looked to you to retrieve our fortunes, but"—in such a voice of withering scorn—"I have looked in vain."'
'Bitter words, my poor Ethel; my heart aches for you. What could such a speech mean? Can it be true that he is really embarrassed?'
'Only temporarily; you know he dabbles in speculations, and he lost a good deal by those mining shares last year; that was the reason why we missed our usual London season. No, it is not that. You see he has never relinquished the secret ambition of a seat in Parliament. I know him so well; nothing can turn him from anything on which he has set his heart, and either of those men would have helped him to compass his end.'
'He has no right to sacrifice you to his ambition.'