If he lost Marian, he would
indeed be a lonely man, for he considered his wife of no account.
Intellectually again, he demanded an entire allegiance from his
daughter; he could not bear to think that her zeal on his behalf
was diminishing, that perhaps she was beginning to regard his
work as futile and antiquated in comparison with that of the new
generation. Yet this must needs be the result of frequent
intercourse with such a man as Milvain. It seemed to him that he
remarked it in her speech and manner, and at times he with
difficulty restrained himself from a reproach or a sarcasm which
would have led to trouble.
Had he been in the habit of dealing harshly with Marian, as with
her mother, of course his position would have been simpler. But
he had always respected her, and he feared to lose that measure
of respect with which she repaid him. Already he had suffered in
her esteem, perhaps more than he liked to think, and the
increasing embitterment of his temper kept him always in danger
of the conflict he dreaded. Marian was not like her mother; she
could not submit to tyrannous usage.
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