CHAPTER XX.
Mr.Falconer started and stared at her, his heavy face growing a dust-red, his eyes distended with amazement and anger.
"Are you out of your mind ?" he said at last, and frowning at her in a kind of perplexity.

"'Pon my soul, Maude, I'm never quite certain whether you are in jest or earnest! If this is intended for a joke, permit me to tell you I consider it in vilely bad taste." "I am not jesting," she said, very quietly, her chin in her hand, her blue eyes fixed on his unblushingly.

"I am in the most sober, the most serious earnest, I assure you." He rose, then sank into the chair again, and sighed impatiently.
"Do you mean to say that you--that he--Confound it If ever there was a man to be pitied, it is the one who has the honour to be your father, Maude." "Why ?" she asked, calmly.

"Have I not been a dutiful daughter?
Have I ever given you any trouble, deceived you?
Am I not perfectly frank with you at this moment ?" He rose and paced to the mantel-shelf, and leaning against it, looked down upon her, the frown still on his heavy face, his hands thrust deeply in his pockets.
"You've always been a puzzle to me," he said, more to himself than to her.

"Ever since you were born I've felt uncertain about you--you're like your mother.