In her little sitting-room she turned on the electric light and looked around half fearfully. Better take these sandwiches. But here was a girl—she must be a girl, since she was his daughter and pat-able—imitating the woman quite remarkably and cleverly. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. ‘You do not use your head, Emile,’ she said flatly. Why had he offered her that kiss on board The Tigress? Perhaps that had been his hour of disenchantment. She fidgeted and looked away. "You must not remain here," he said.
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