Because here was the haven for which she had been blindly groping: the positive abolition of all her father's rights in her—the right to drag her back. ‘Point it at me. She would end alone. ‘To take a baby all the way to France without a wet-nurse. To disillusion her, forthwith. He was still flashily dressed, with much obvious jewellery and the shiniest of patent boots, but his general bearing and appearance had altered for the worse. He was a London man of business, spending a small legacy in Paris. Why had he glanced up—quite in that way?. She had, poor inexperienced fool, given herself away. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home.
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