Colina paused and looked at him levelly. "Dad, what a fool you are
about me!" she said coolly.

"Colina!" he cried again, and pounded the table.

She met his indignant glance squarely.

"I mean it," she said. "I'm your daughter, am I not?--and mother's?
You must know yourself by this time; you must have known mother--you
ought to understand me a little but you won't try--you're clever enough
in everything else! You've made up an idea for yourself of what a
daughter ought to be, and you're always trying to make me fit it!"

Gaviller scarcely listened to this. "I'll have to bring in a chaperon
for you!" he cried.

"Oh, Lord!" groaned Colina. "Anything but that! What do you want me
to do?"

"Merely to live like other girls," said Gaviller; "to observe the
proprieties."

"That's why I couldn't get along at school," muttered Colina gloomily.
"You might as well send me back."

"You're simply headstrong!" said her father severely. "You won't try
to be different."

"Dad," said Colina suddenly, "what did you come north for in the first
place, thirty years ago?"