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"I am still at a loss to account for this affair of your father's," he
said. "Of course I know what it is supposed to be--a reception in honour
of our home-coming. That explanation may or may not be sufficient for
these stupid islanders, but it's rather too thin for me. Can you tell me
what your father means by it?"
I knew he knew what my father meant, so I said, trembling like a sheep
that walks up to a barking dog:
"Hadn't you better ask that question of my father himself?"
"Perhaps I should if he were here, but he isn't, so I ask you. Your
father is a strange man. There's no knowing what crude things he will
not do to gratify his primitive instincts. But he does not spend five or
ten thousand pounds for nothing. He isn't a fool exactly."
"Thank you," I said. I could not help it. It was forced out of me.
My husband flinched and looked at me. Then the bully in him, which
always lay underneath, came uppermost.
"Look here, Mary," he said. "I came for an explanation and I intend to
have one.


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