and her own comforts, never troubled about her daughter's inner consciousness. It was true she would not allow her Fanny to be exposed to the contamination of a French school and took care to have her education terminated at home, by the aid of governesses. Miss Sand-cross was exceedingly quick and intelligent, and would soon have been able to teach her teachers. Her English and French were perfection; she had a smattering of German and Italian; and was a natural pianist and a fair singer. But the ladies who came to give her lessons were retained, more as companions for her, or chaperons, as it is an inflexible unwritten law that no single girl can be allowed to go about Paris alone.
The governesses were often changed. They underwent two distinct ordeals. First of all, their sweet young pupil pumped them as dry as she could, never ceasing to ply them with questions relating to tabooed topics: matrimony and kindred matters. Secondly, if they were at all well-favoured and desirous of keeping their situation, they had to submit to Mr. Sandcross's caresses. If they were virtuous they did not remain long in the rich electrician's flat; being unwilling to answer the daughter's queer queries, and revolting at the father's rudeness.
These intrigues were unknown to the mother, but Fanny, without having any idea that her dear father had really possessed most of her governesses entirely, perceived clearly that he liked to flirt with them. Sand-cross was really very excited over all the girls coming in contact with his daughter. It seemed to increase his enjoyment, when he thought that Fanny was constantly being attended by her father's mistresses. The knowledge that one of these lady companions went out to a matinee or concert with his daughter after a hasty upright encounter in his private den, without having had time to cleanse herself from the final spurt of his lubricity, lifted him far above the ordinary haven of debauchees, and landed him into some celestial unknown space of aphrodisiacal ether.
From thence to falling madly in love with his own charming offspring was but a step, and he took it boldly, firmly, and resolutely. Fanny was seventeen when he woke up one fine morning and found out while having his bath that if he did not deflower his own flesh and blood, he would be most unhappy. He suddenly saw that he had been in love with her for a very long time, but did not realize his own passion. Now that he felt his bold longing tightly clutching his brain, it may be imagined that he tried in some way or another to try and overcome his unnatural desire, or fought against the criminal passion. Not at all. He never troubled so far, merely meaning to try and enjoy his own girl, if he could; and if he did not succeed-well, it would be time enough then to see what could be done. The fact is, so many women had dropped down before him, ready to place themselves in any posture that best pleased him, that he hardly fancied Fanny would resist him any more than the others. They were strangers. He had no influence over them, and yet their seduction was not difficult. How much more easy to allure and entice his own daughter, fond of pleasure-going, dress, and jewellery? Moreover, he felt sure she loved him, for he had been the best of fathers to her up to the present. At least, so he thought, according to his lights. He had made her his companion to a certain extent. His wife was lazy, fond of good cooking and novel-reading. She could manage a house very well, and keep servants in order, but when her daily task of organizing work and having meals properly cooked and punctually served was over, she was content to sink into an armchair and cry showers of tears over some silly tale of love. She was glad when her husband took Fanny out of an evening, and did not trouble about what time they came home or where they went. Thus it was that Miss Sandcross had gone with the author of her being to all the second-rate theatres where spicy comedies of adultery and salacious intrigue are played. The variety halls had no mysteries for her. She sat unconcerned in the private boxes of the Folies-Decolletees, and her pa told her the latest echoes of the wings, concerning the amours of Juanita la Torticula, the lovely Spanish dancer who had formed a Lesbian liaison with Phyllis de Honiton, a high-kicking goddess starring at the same establishment. Mr. Sandcross did not say so in as many words to his pretty daughter, but when she put up her fan, as if to hide a blush, and nodded as much to say, “Yes, pa, I know!” he felt that his dear little Fanny was au fait. It did not seem strange to him that she should know what a cocotte was, or that she should have heard who kept such and such a notorious prostitute of Paris. His daughter was seventeen, and most girls at that age learnt from their companions what was what, didn't they?
He was not alarmed to see her devour the raciest of modern French pornographical novels, and he himself purchased and took home to her every week the “bluest” and broadest comic papers, where naked bosoms above, and well-filled embroidered drawers below give purchasers of the suggestive pictures scarcely anything to guess at between the lines and legs. The mother's listless-ness allowed Fanny's thoughts to run in a very muddy channel. The young lady was not corrupted, because there was nothing to corrupt. Her perversity was natural, she was born that way, and her licentious predisposition was encouraged, instead of being toned down by proper home life and true womanly aspirations.
After the theatre, dressed in the height of fashion, wearing costly diamond rings and beautiful jewellery, all given to her by her doting father, Fanny, radiant in her tight-fitting frock and picture-hat, would sup tete-a-tete with her papa in the public room of some swell restaurant, where the tziganes played, and high-class painted beauties in society and of the half-world, assembled to carry on the business of selling their bodies to the highest bidder, strictly without reserve.
When next day, Sandcross was complimented by acquaintances on the comeliness of the lovely young girl supping with him the night before, he would, according to his humour, smile and change the subject, or maybe tell his friends it was his daughter. When they refused to believe him, perfectly certain that no self-respecting parent would take his daughter to places which after all were little better than common nighthouses, and chuckling, call him a sly dog, our prodigal father was delighted and would laugh at the joke with Fanny when he got home.
When his carnal craving suddenly arose in his being and he resolved to try and seduce his daughter, he turned the matter over in his mind and saw that he had very little more to do, having unconsciously prepared her for her fall ever since she had attained the age of puberty.
More books for her to read, perhaps a little stronger, if he could obtain anything more tropical without being downright bawdy; a few finer finger rings; a new dress or two; boxes for first nights and suppers at the most brilliant resorts. What more could he do? He would try kisses and sly touches to arouse her passion.
At this moment Fanny was seventeen and papa got his wife to imagine that it was she herself who had decided that their daughter needed no governess. She could go out with her music-mistress now and again; with lady friends or her mamma; by herself in the motor-car, or in a taxi, but never on foot-and after all was he not there to take her out with him, if she got dull, now and again? Mrs. Sandcross, as usual, was pleased to find her paragon of a husband good enough to trouble himself about his daughter, until she got married. Mr. Sandcross frowned as he heard the last word, curtly saying he would see all about that in good time, and leaving his better half, he took Fanny out to a music-hall where a very smutty revue was being played. The actresses wore no shoulder-straps to their low-necked costumes, and he liked to see his daughter blush, when the brazen hussies showed the slobbering stallites the black bouquets of their armpits.
It was not the first time by far that the father and daughter had gone to spend the evening at a place of entertainment, but Sandcross had never experienced the sharp pangs of lustful yearning that thrilled him on this occasion. He had indulged in extra wine at dinner at home, and towards the end of the repast had called for a bottle of champagne to be uncorked, of which Fanny had partaken.
In the carriage her sapphire orbs were sparkling with rays of light. She felt jolly and told her father so. He replied by placing his arm round her waist and kissing her cheek. She was not surprised; he often did so. But she did think he was really too affectionate that evening, for he kept his arm behind her all the way to the music-hall, and his face was near her shoulder. He eagerly inhaled the natural, sweet fragrance arising from her full frame, and regretted that the scent which she used so liberally half effaced the true perfume of womankind. Sandcross made remarks on his daughter's dress, criticising the fit of the corsage, enabling him to pass his feverish trembling ringers over her proudly swelling breasts, until she pushed his hand away with a laugh, telling her pa how ticklish she was. It must not be thought that she had the slightest lascivious feelings while her papa tried to tousle her as much as he dared, not wishing to disarrange her toilette in the cramped carriage, for despite all her enlightenment, or perhaps because of her comprehension of sensual secrets, she had as yet never experienced the slightest thrill of melting consciousness in the innermost recesses of her temple of love.
She only thought her father was quite too awfully tender-hearted when he had enjoyed a good dinner and an extra glass of wine.
All the evening, in the private box, papa sat close behind her. She felt his hot breath on her neck and ears; and his knees pressed into her hard buttocks as they fully covered the seat of her chair. At every obscene joke, his elbow nudged her, or he touched her arm. She smiled at him archly, but would quickly open her fan, or take up her glasses with a vacant air of infantile wonderment.
