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Of
course the girl never talked of her father with Mrs. Fyne. I suppose
with her theory of innocence she found it difficult. But she must have
been thinking of it day and night. What to do with him? Where to go?
How to keep body and soul together? He had never made any friends. The
only relations were the atrocious East-end cousins. We know what they
were. Nothing but wretchedness, whichever way she turned in an unjust
and prejudiced world. And to look at him helplessly she felt would be
too much for her.
I won't say I was thinking these thoughts. It was not necessary. This
complete knowledge was in my head while I stared hard across the wide
road, so hard that I failed to hear little Fyne till he raised his deep
voice indignantly.
"I don't blame the girl," he was saying. "He is infatuated with her.
Anybody can see that. Why she should have got such a hold on him I can't
understand. She said "Yes" to him only for the sake of that fatuous,
swindling father of hers. It's perfectly plain if one thinks it over a
moment. One needn't even think of it.


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