“Sarah, my darling, permit me to be sole judge in all the arrangements
that concern my daughter.”
Count Ville-Handry’s accent was so firm as he said this, that one would
have sworn the idea of dislodging Henrietta had sprung from his own
brains. He went on,--
“I never act thoughtlessly, and always take time to mature my decisions.
In this case I act from motives of the most ordinary propriety. Mrs.
Brian is no longer young; my daughter is a mere child. If one of the
two has to submit to some slight inconvenience, it is certainly my
daughter.”
All of a sudden M. Elgin rose.
“I should leave,” he began.
Unfortunately the rest of the phrase was lost in an indistinct murmur.
He was no doubt at that moment recalling a promise he had made. And
resolved not to interfere in the count’s family affairs, and, on the
other hand, indignant at what he considered an odious abuse of power,
he left the room abruptly. His looks, his physiognomy, his gestures, all
betrayed these sentiments so clearly, that Henrietta was quite touched.