Supper was over. Sometimes she missed her cue and nodded affirmatively when the gesture should have been the reverse; and Prudence would send her a sharp glance of disapproval. He would have to probe further. I am going to ask him to finish it. He saw rifts in clouds—sunshine. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. He had tossed an honoured name into the mire; he required no prison bars to accentuate this misery. And I suppose it is too much to expect that any entirely English young lady would be prepared to tolerate me for the remainder of my life.
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