She began to weep in long, aching sobs. And yet—you millionaires should really, I think, cultivate the art of discrimination. She had made her first fight for dignity and freedom as a grown-up and independent Person, and this was how the universe had treated her. Both had dropped the rather elaborate politeness of the dining-room, and in their faces an impartial observer would have discovered little lines of obstinate wilfulness in common; a certain hardness—sharp, indeed, in the father and softly rounded in the daughter—but hardness nevertheless, that made every compromise a bargain and every charity a discount. But he has since acquitted you of any share in it.
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