The glowing love within the breast of his young daughter froze before it, and she stood and looked at him as if stricken into stone.
There was not one touch of tenderness or pity in it.

There was not one gleam of interest, parental recognition, or relenting in it.

There was a change in it, but not of that kind.

The old indifference and cold constraint had given place to something: what, she never thought and did not dare to think, and yet she felt it in its force, and knew it well without a name: that as it looked upon her, seemed to cast a shadow on her head.
Did he see before him the successful rival of his son, in health and life?
Did he look upon his own successful rival in that son's affection?
Did a mad jealousy and withered pride, poison sweet remembrances that should have endeared and made her precious to him?
Could it be possible that it was gall to him to look upon her in her beauty and her promise: thinking of his infant boy! Florence had no such thoughts.

But love is quick to know when it is spurned and hopeless: and hope died out of hers, as she stood looking in her father's face.
'I ask you, Florence, are you frightened?
Is there anything the matter, that you come here ?' 'I came, Papa--' 'Against my wishes.