Fiercely defensive, as usual. Or perhaps my father once. The dance itself was anticlimactic, with teenagers trying their best to look the part of adult sophisticates on the dance floor. ‘What do you do here?’ demanded the young lady, moving to meet him. Not only that, but he carried himself erect— the slight slouch which had bent his shoulders had altogether disappeared. ‘You’re the most troublesome wretch I’ve ever encountered,’ he told her bitterly. “What is the good of pretending?” she said. It's almost worth while being sent to prison to have the pleasure of escaping. “And even then—” The conversation hung for a thoughtful moment. A granddaughter of mine!’ The idiocy of this notion stuck in his craw and he could think of nothing else for a moment. .
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