"She's acting," he decided. But this explanation he soon dismissed.
No, it was something deeper. She was actually unashamed, unafraid. That
first display of feelings, the night of her arrival, had been only the
scare of an hour. Within a few days she was back on her feet; and her cure
for her trouble, if trouble she felt, was not less but more pleasure, as
always. She went out nearly every evening now; and when she had spent what
money she had, she sold a part of her jewelry to the little old Galician
Jew in the shop around the corner. Yes, she was her natural self. And she
was as before to her father. Her attitude said plainly,
"It isn't fair to you, poor dear, to expect you to fully understand how
right I am in this affair. And considering your point of view, you're
acting very nicely."
Often as she talked to him a note of good-humored forgiveness crept into
his daughter's voice. And looking at her grimly out of the corner of his
eye, he saw that she looked down on him, far, far down from heights above.
"Yes," he thought, "this is modern." Then he grew angry all at once. "No,"
he added, "this is wrong! You can't fool me, young woman, you know it as
well as I do myself! You're not going to carry this off with an air--not
with your father! No, by George!"
And he would grow abrupt and stern. But days would pass and in spite of
himself into their talks would creep a natural friendly tone.
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