He'll mend, I hope. He was—a millionaire. I know my son's voice too well. “You cannot seriously believe,” he said, “that at the present moment I care a snap of the fingers whether I have any dinner or not. It’s a sort of blacklegging to want to have a life of one’s own. But he dismissed that because then she would ask her lover and not him all these things. Perhaps you will meet him someday. His glance swept up again and found her staring at him with much of her usual defiance, if a touch less of her customary assurance. We were expecting rather to find a male antagonist. He was like a man beside himself. ’ She counted off on her fingers.
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