She read on and on, now thrilled by the swiftly moving drama, now enraptured by the tender passages of love. But here was a girl—she must be a girl, since she was his daughter and pat-able—imitating the woman quite remarkably and cleverly. The iron slipped from his face, leaving it blank with astonishment. ‘Bête. ‘He can’t be Valade, that’s certain,’ mused Gerald, unheeding. Pausing at each door on the landing, Jack placed his ear to the keyhole, and listened intently. But she found an unknown lady’s discarded garments, and selected some of those that she tried on, sending Kimble off down the secret passage to load them onto the horse she had borrowed—unbeknownst to its owner—from Father Saint-Simon. “So Brendon and I,” he said, “have been troubled with the same fears. “We don’t want things to happen!” Never had he shown his daughter so clearly that the womenkind he was persuaded he had to protect and control could please him in one way, and in one way only, and that was by doing nothing except the punctual domestic duties and being nothing except restful appearances. They said no more for a moment, and each was now acutely aware of the other. She seemed to have recovered herself as he returned, but rose as if she would go back to the saloon.
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