If she suppressed anything it was probably that which affected Lance's secret alone, and it was doubtful how much of that she herself knew.

In her own affairs she was frank without being communicative, and never lost her shy obstinacy even with her father.

Governing the old man as completely as she did, she appeared most embarrassed when she was most dominant; she had her own way without lifting her voice or her eyes; she seemed oppressed by _mauvaise honte_ when she was most triumphant; she would end a discussion with a shy murmur addressed to herself, or a single gesture of self-consciousness.
The disclosure of her strange relations with an unknown man, and the exchange of presents and confidences, seemed to suddenly awake Fairley to a vague, uneasy sense of some unfulfilled duties as a parent.

The first effect of this on his weak nature was a peevish antagonism to the cause of it.

He had long, fretful monologues on the vanity of diamond-making, if accompanied with "pestering" by "interlopers;" on the wickedness of concealment and conspiracy, and their effects on charcoal-burning; on the nurturing of spies and "adders" in the family circle, and on the seditiousness of dark and mysterious councils in which a gray-haired father was left out.