You Never Can Tell

my sense of what is right. I respect nothing that is not noble. That is my duty. She adds, less firmly, As to affection, it is not within my control. I am not sure that I quite know what affection means. She turns away with an evident distaste for that part of the subject, and goes to the luncheon table for a comfortable chair, putting down her book and sunshade. Crampton Following her with his eyes. Do you really mean what you are saying? Gloria Turning on him quickly and severely. Excuse me: that is an uncivil question. I am speaking seriously to you; and I expect you to take me seriously. She takes one of the luncheon chairs; turns it away from the table; and sits down a little wearily, saying, Can you not discuss this matter coolly and rationally? Crampton Coolly and rationally! No, I can’t. Do you understand that? I can’t. Gloria Emphatically. No. That I cannot understand. I have no sympathy with⁠— Crampton Shrinking nervously. Stop! Don’t say anything more yet; you don’t know what you’re doing. Do you want to drive me mad? She frowns, finding such petulance intolerable. He adds hastily, No: I’m not angry: indeed I’m not. Wait, wait: give me a little time to think. He stands for a moment, screwing and clinching his brows and hands in his perplexity; then takes the end chair from the luncheon table and sits down beside her, saying, with a touching effort to be gentle and patient, Now, I think I have it. At least I’ll try. Gloria Firmly. You see! Everything comes right if we only think it resolutely out. Crampton In sudden dread. No: don’t think. I want you to feel: that’s the only thing that can help us. Listen! Do you⁠—but first⁠—I forgot. What’s your name? I mean you pet name. They can’t very well call you Sophronia. Gloria With astonished disgust. Sophronia! My name is Gloria. I am always called by it. Crampton His temper rising again. Your name is Sophronia, girl: you were called after your aunt Sophronia, my sister: she gave you your first Bible with your name written in it. Gloria Then my mother gave me a new name. Crampton Angrily. She had no right to do it. I will not allow this. Gloria You had no right to give me your sister’s name. I don’t know her. Crampton You’re talking nonsense. There are bounds to what I will put up with. I will not have it. Do you hear that? Gloria Rising warningly. Are you resolved to quarrel? Crampton Terrified, pleading. No, no: sit down. Sit down, won’t you? She looks at him, keeping him in suspense. He forces himself to utter the obnoxious name. Gloria. She marks her satisfaction with a slight tightening of the lips, and sits down. There! You see I only want to show you that I am your father, my⁠—my dear child. The endearment is so plaintively inept that she smiles in spite of herself, and resigns herself to indulge him a little. Listen now. What I want to ask you is this. Don’t you remember me at all? You were only a tiny child when you were taken away from me; but you took plenty of notice of things. Can’t you remember someone whom you loved, or Shyly. at least liked in a childish way? Come! someone who let you stay in his study and look at his toy boats, as you thought them? He looks anxiously into her face for some response, and continues less hopefully and more urgently, Someone who let you do as you liked there and never said a word to you except to tell you that you must sit still and not speak? Someone who was something that no one else was to you⁠—who was your father. Gloria Unmoved. If you describe things to me, no doubt I shall presently imagine that I remember them. But I really remember nothing. Crampton Wistfully. Has your mother never told you anything about me? Gloria She has never mentioned your name to me. He groans involuntarily. She looks at him rather contemptuously and continues, Except once; and then she did remind me of something I had forgotten. Crampton Looking up hopefully. What was that? Gloria Mercilessly. The whip you bought to beat me with. Crampton Gnashing his teeth. Oh! To bring that up against me! To turn from me! When you need never have known. Under a grinding, agonized breath. Curse her! Gloria Springing up. You wretch! With intense emphasis. You wretch!! You dare curse my mother! Crampton Stop; or you’ll be sorry afterwards. I’m your father. Gloria How I hate the name! How I love the name of mother! You had better go. Crampton I⁠—I’m choking. You want to kill me. Some⁠—I⁠—His voice stifles: he is almost in a fit. Gloria Going up to the balustrade with cool, quick resourcefulness, and calling over to the beach. Mr. Valentine! Valentine Answering from below. Yes. Gloria Come here a moment, please. Mr. Crampton wants you. She returns to the table and pours out a glass of water. Crampton Recovering his speech. No: let me alone. I don’t want him. I’m all right, I tell you. I need neither his help nor yours. He rises and pulls himself together. As you say, I had better go. He puts on his hat. Is that your last word? Gloria I hope so. He looks stubbornly at her for a moment; nods grimly, as if he agreed to that; and goes into the hotel. She looks at him with equal steadiness until he disappears, when she makes a gesture of relief, and turns to speak to Valentine, who comes running up the steps. Valentine Panting. What’s the matter? Looking round. Where’s Crampton? Gloria Gone. Valentine’s face lights up with sudden joy, dread, and mischief. He has just realized that he is alone with