“I wonder,” she began, presently, “why I love you—and love you so much?. Her answer was not quite ready. . ’ ‘I have found Mary Remenham’s daughter,’ he repeated. “If only I could afford another!” she thought regretfully. Even then she had understood vaguely that she had touched upon some philosophy of life: that one was never lonely when alone, only in the midst of crowds. Locked! He sped out to the corridor and went swiftly into the next room. His instinct was in the direction of considering his daughters his absolute property, bound to obey him, his to give away or his to keep to be a comfort in his declining years just as he thought fit. .
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