never fear. Yet it was a curious anomaly that while one had a thousand ways of defending one’s daughter and one’s property against that daughter’s husband, there was no power on earth by which a father could stretch his dead hand between that daughter and the undue influence of a lover. Unless you tied her up for good and all, lover or none....
One was left at the mercy of V.V.'s character....
“I ought to see more of her,” he thought. “She gets away from me. Just as her mother did.” A man need not suspect his womenkind but he should know what they are doing. It is duty, his protective duty to them. These companions, these Seyffert women and so forth, were all very well in their way; there wasn’t much they kept from you if you got them cornered and asked them intently. But a father’s eye is better. He must go about with the girl for a time, watch her with other men, give her chances to talk business with him and see if she took them. “V.V., I’m going to make a man of you,” the phrase ran through his brain. The deep instinctive jealousy of the primordial father was still strong in old Grammont’s blood. It would be pleasant to go about with her on his right hand in Paris, his girl, straight and lovely, desirable and unapproachable,—above that sort of nonsense, above all other masculine subjugation.
