“I’m not lying.  It’s all true.  And you’re a termagant, Jenny.  That’s what you are.  You want it all your own way!  Anything that goes wrong is my fault—­not yours!  You don’t think there’s anything that’s your fault.  It’s all mine.  But, my good girl, that’s ridiculous.  What d’you think I know about you? Eh?  Nothing whatever!  Absolutely nothing!  You think you’re as clear as day!  You’re not.  You’re a dark horse.  I’m afraid of you—­afraid of your temper ... your pride.  You won’t see that.  You think it’s my fault that ...”  Keith’s excitement almost convinced Jenny.

“Shouting won’t do any good,” she said, deeply curious and overwhelmed by her bewilderment.

“Pull yourself together, Jenny!” he urged.  “Look at it from my side if you can.  Try!  Imagine I’ve got a side, that is.  And now I’ll tell you something about myself ... no lies; and you’ll have to make the best of the truth.  The Truth!” Laughing, he kissed her; and Jenny, puzzled but intrigued, withheld her indignation in order to listen to the promised account.  Keith began.  “Well, Jenny:  I told you I was thirty.  I’m thirty-one in a couple of months.  I’ll tell you the date, and you can work me a sampler.  And I was born in a place you’ve never set eyes on—­and I hope you never will set eyes on it.  I was born in Glasgow.  And there’s a smelly old river there, called the Clyde, where they launch big ships ... a bit bigger than the Minerva.  The Minerva was built in Holland.  Well, my old father was a tough old chap—­not a Scotchman, though my mother was Scotch—­with a big business in Glasgow.  He was as rich as—­well, richer than anybody you ever met.  Work that out!  And he was as tough as a Glasgow business man.  They’re a special kind.  And I was his little boy.  He had no other little boys.  You interested?”

Jenny nodded sharply, her breast against his, so that she felt every breath he drew.

“Yes:  well, my father was so keen that I should grow up into a Glasgow business man that he nearly killed me.  He hated me.  Simply because when I did anything it was always something away from the pattern—­the plan.  D’you see?  And he’d nearly beat my head in each time....  Yes, wasn’t it!...  Well, when I was ten he and I had got into such a way that we were sworn enemies.  He’d got a strong will; but so had I, even though I was such a kid.  And I wouldn’t—­I couldn’t—­do what he told me to.  And when I was thirteen, I ran away.  I’d always loved the river, and boats, and so on; and I ran away from my old father.  And he nearly went off his head...and he brought me back.  Didn’t take him long to find me!  That was when I began to hate him.  I’d only been afraid of him before; but I was growing up.  Well, he put me to a school where they watched me all the time.  I sulked, I worked, I did every blessed thing; and I grew older still, and more afraid of my father, and somehow less afraid of him, too.  I got a sort of horror of him.  I hated him.