"
Joyselle watched her in silence for a long time. "Not even if I entreat
you?" he asked in a gentle voice.
Her lips tightened, for tenderness with coercion behind it had no
delusions for her.
"Not even if you entreat me. I have told you that I dislike my mother
and I do not wish to see her. I will not tell you why, and that, at
least, you ought to approve of."
"It is horrible for a daughter to say that she does not like her
mother----"
"It is horrible for me not to like her, but I can't help it. And it is
not horrible for me to tell--anything to you."
But his face did not soften. "I wish you to go to Kingsmead, Brigit."
"I will not go to Kingsmead, Victor."
"Then," his anger now finally blazed up, "I can say only--good-bye."
Her face was as white and as hard as his own, and being a woman she
could even laugh.
"_Adieu, donc--Beau-pere!_"
"What do you mean by that? You will not--surely you cannot mean that you
will----"
"But I do!" He himself had suggested a revenge to her. "If you and I
quarrel, I will most certainly not marry your son."
For a moment the father in him dominated the mere man, and his eloquence
was great as he reproached her.
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