The speculative calm of the sunken brown eyes deepened.

His thoughts went back to the white face of the private enquiry agent.  “Absolutely nothing, Sir.”  What had the fellow thought of hinting?  Nothing of that kind in V.V.’s composition, never fear.  Yet it was a curious anomaly that while one had a thousand ways of defending one’s daughter and one’s property against that daughter’s husband, there was no power on earth by which a father could stretch his dead hand between that daughter and the undue influence of a lover.  Unless you tied her up for good and all, lover or none....

One was left at the mercy of V.V.’s character....

“I ought to see more of her,” he thought.  “She gets away from me.  Just as her mother did.”  A man need not suspect his womenkind but he should know what they are doing.  It is duty, his protective duty to them.  These companions, these Seyffert women and so forth, were all very well in their way; there wasn’t much they kept from you if you got them cornered and asked them intently.  But a father’s eye is better.  He must go about with the girl for a time, watch her with other men, give her chances to talk business with him and see if she took them.  “V.V., I’m going to make a man of you,” the phrase ran through his brain.  The deep instinctive jealousy of the primordial father was still strong in old Grammont’s blood.  It would be pleasant to go about with her on his right hand in Paris, his girl, straight and lovely, desirable and unapproachable,—­above that sort of nonsense, above all other masculine subjugation.

“V.V., I’m going to make a man of you....”

His mind grew calmer.  Whatever she wanted in Paris should be hers.  He’d just let her rip.  They’d be like sweethearts together, he and his girl.

Old Grammont dozed off into dreamland.

Section 5

The imaginations of Mr. Gunter Lake, two days behind Mr. Grammont upon the Atlantic, were of a gentler, more romantic character.  In them V.V. was no longer a daughter in the fierce focus of a father’s jealousy, but the goddess enshrined in a good man’s heart.  Indeed the figure that the limelight of the reverie fell upon was not V.V. at all but Mr. Gunter Lake himself, in his favourite role of the perfect lover.

An interminable speech unfolded itself.  “I ask for nothing in return.  I’ve never worried you about that Caston business and I never will.  Married to me you shall be as free as if you were unmarried.  Don’t I know, my dear girl, that you don’t love me yet.  Let that be as you wish.  I want nothing you are not willing to give me, nothing at all.  All I ask is the privilege of making life happy—­and it shall be happy—­for you....  All I ask.  All I ask.  Protect, guard, cherish....”

For to Mr. Gunter Lake it seemed there could be no lovelier thing in life than a wife “in name only” slowly warmed into a glow of passion by the steadfast devotion and the strength and wisdom of a mate at first despised.  Until at last a day would come....