“It seems to me wrong—wrong to both of you,” Joseph pursued, in a pathetic voice. “I can’t help noticing my child’s looks. I know she isn’t what she used to be, poor little girl! And I know Kirkwood isn’t what he used to be. It’s very hard, and I feel for you—for both of you.”
Jane sat motionless, not daring to lift her eyes, scarcely daring to breathe.
“Janey.”
“Yes, father.”
"I wonder whether I’m doing wrong to your grandfather in speaking to you confidentially like this? I can’t believe he notices things as I do; he’d never wish you to be unhappy.”
“But I don’t quite understand, father. What do you mean about Mr. Kirkwood? Why should he”
The impulse failed her. A fear which she had harboured for many weary days was being confirmed, and she could not ask directly for the word that would kill hope.
“Have I a right to tell you? I thought perhaps you understood.”
“As you have gone so far, I think you must explain. I don’t see how you can be doing wrong.”
