They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. She wondered why he was so distinctive, so unlike other men, and it never occurred to her for some time that this might be because she was falling in love with him. He motioned the young man to the rear chair, because at that hour the youth appeared to be a quantity close to zero. He was really very proud of her, and extraordinarily angry and resentful at the innocent and audacious selfreliance that seemed to intimate her sense of absolute independence of him, her absolute security without him. " "In what way, Sir?" demanded Trenchard, in astonishment. She hastened past. “But your hair,” he gasped. “In Paris. Turning to Melusine, he grabbed both her wrists and held her away from him, as if afraid that she might go for him.
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