enced girl after the life on that yacht of yours—well—and you were right about my being seduced—I was—but Dane was not the man. It was when I was under twenty, and it was on one of those trips of yours. The atmosphere of your yacht did rather favour seduction, you know, father. And the man was one of the dear, friendly souls prominent to-day in your set. You often have him to dinner, smiling upon mother who would refuse to meet Dane—I say, hadn’t you better have a whisky? Sit down. I have a lot more to say ———”
“Who the hell is that man?” Davenport Carr stood shaking with rage in front of her.
“Oh, my heavens! If you men could only see how funny you are about us women! Sit down, and listen to me as Dane listened to you.”
The cold contempt in her tone staggered her father. As if he were in a dream he sat down.
Dane moved up a step or two, as if he would try to stop her. But he saw it was no use. She went on remorselessly.
“I shall not tell you the name of that man. Why should I? I understand mood and impulse now better than I did then. He is a charming man, much older than I. But then, most of them were. You had very clever and persuasive friends, my dear father. I will say that for them. And I was an inexperienced girl, emotional and idealistic and trusting the men you introduced me to. And I was flattered by their attention, and I got a little drunk with it. And I did not see what they were after—all of them. And then one night this man was too much for me, for like a silly kid I thought it was a wonderful thing to have a clever man like that tell me he loved me, and I lost my head, and left the future to him—sit still ———”
“Valerie, I will not sit still! By God, I will not! I
