He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. His instinct was in the direction of considering his daughters his absolute property, bound to obey him, his to give away or his to keep to be a comfort in his declining years just as he thought fit. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend. I wanted it badly. “Then why go out with him, Michelle? Why belabor yourself?” Lucy questioned. Stanley allowed his paper to drop a little, and scrutinized the hats and brows of their three fellow-travellers. ‘I can’t do that. You might trust me with the Chevalier himself,—I'd never betray him. Then he took the pulse.
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