"Can't you understand?" asked Grafton, also with more decision in his speech than he had used before. "You don't go abroad much, I know. But I suppose you've read a few French novels." Worthing looked genuinely puzzled. "I can't say I have," he said. "Jorrocks is more in my line. But what are you driving at?" "Don't you know how men in France are brought up to look at women? They don't marry like we do, and they don't lead the same lives after they're married. At least men of Lassigny's sort don't." Worthing considered this. "You mean you don't think he's fit for her?" he said judicially. Grafton did not reply to his question in direct terms. "He's three or four and thirty," he said. "He's lived the life of his sort, in Paris, and elsewhere. It's been so natural to him that he wouldn't affect to hide it if I asked him about it. It wouldn't be any good if he did. If I liked to go over to Paris and get among the people who know him, there'd be all sorts of stories I could pick up for the asking. Nobody would think there was any disgrace in them--for him. What does a fellow like that--a fellow of that age, with all those experiences behind him--what does he want with my little B? Damn him!" This was very different from the rather pointless complaints that had gone before. Worthing did not reply immediately. His honest simple mind inclined him towards speech that should not be a mere shirking of the question. But it was difficult. "I don't suppose there are many fellows, either French or English, you'd want to marry your daughters to, if you judged them in that way," he said quietly. Grafton looked at him. "I shouldn't have thought _you'd_ have taken that line," he said. "I don't know much about the French," Worthing went on. "I've heard fellows say that they do openly what we do in the dark. Far as I'm concerned, it's outside my line of life altogether. I've had all I wanted with sport, and a country life, and being on friendly terms with a lot of people. Still, you don't get to forty-five without having looked about you a bit. I believe there are more fellows like me than you'd think to hear a lot of 'em talk; but you know there are plenty who aren't. They do marry nice girls, and make 'em good husbands too." Grafton looked down on his plate, with a frown on his face. Then he looked up again. "That doesn't corner me," he said. "The right sort of man makes a new start when he marries--with us. Fellows like that don't pretend to, except just for a time perhaps--until--Oh, I can't talk about it. It's all too beastly--to think of her being looked upon in that way. I'm going to stop it. I've made up my mind. I won't consent; and she can't marry without my consent." CHAPTER XIV LASSIGNY Beatrix's answer to his telegram came that afternoon. "Don't want to come home yet. Please let me stay. Am writing much love." This angered him. It was a defiance; or so it struck him. He went down to the Post-Office himself, and sent another wire.