Then suddenly she turned and threw herself upon the bed, bursting into a passion of tears.

Sobs shook her.
"Oh, Ian," she said, raising her head at last, "oh, Ian, Ian, I hate myself!" Down in the library her stepmother was saying to her father, "You are right, Jasmine will marry the nabob." "I am sorry for Ian Stafford," was the response.
"Men get over such things," came the quietly cynical reply.
"Jasmine takes a lot of getting over," answered Jasmine's father.

"She has got the brains of all the family, the beauty her family never had--the genius of my father, and the wilfulness, and--" He paused, for, after all, he was not talking to the mother of his child.
"Yes, all of it, dear child," was the enigmatical reply.
"I wish--Nelly, I do wish that--" "Yes, I know what you wish, Cuthbert, but it's no good.

I'm not of any use to her.

She will work out her own destiny alone--as her grandfather did." "God knows I hope not! A man can carry it off, but a woman--" Slow and almost stupid as he was, he knew that her inheritance from her grandfather's nature was a perilous gift..