Read Online Her Father's House by Belva Plain - Free Book Online

to die, but you'd never guess when you're with him. You wouldn't believe his sense of humor unless you heard him cracking jokes. Poor old man, I'm really crazy about him.”
    Yes, he had done the right thing in leading her away from the Sanders crowd. Roaming through the city as they had in their first days together, renting a rowboat in the park, picnicking with friends beneath the trees, they celebrated the lovely month of June.
    Early in July there came an invitation. Roy Fox was giving a party.
    â€œI'm really surprised they remembered us,” said Lillian. “Why, the Foxes only had us because of the Sanders.”
    â€œThis one copied his brother's list, that's all. I'm very sure no one there really remembered you or me.”
    â€œRoy's estate is supposed to be even more fabulous than Tommy's. I'm really curious to see how that can be.”
    Donald shook his head. “Lil, dear, we're not going.”
    â€œNot going! Whyever not?”
    â€œOne person's ‘fabulous' is another person's disgust, Lil.”
    â€œWhat's the matter? Those beds again? Just because some people go in for that sort of thing doesn't mean other people have to.”
    Her voice and her posture told him that this was not going to be over with in five minutes. At the same time, something clicked in his memory: Of course! That man whom he had overheard applauding the very scoundrel who had fled the country with his stolen millions, that man was Roy and Tommy's father.
    â€œFoul,” he said. “Those people are foul.”
    â€œWhy? Oh, because of those beds you consign them to hell?”
    â€œNo, it's larger and deeper than that.”
    He was not about to start a discussion about morals, sexual, financial, or otherwise, so he answered simply.
    â€œThe whole affair was vulgar. Too much of everything. Sometimes less is more. I didn't like the atmosphere, and I don't want to go again.”
    â€œYou ought to get a soapbox, Donald. You sound like a preacher. You're a puritan.”
    â€œI may have been called a lot of things behind my back, possibly I have been, but I doubt ‘puritan' was ever one of them.”
    â€œThen you're some kind of radical who hates anybody richer than he is.”
    â€œYou really know you're talking nonsense now. Do I hate, as you put it, do I hate Mr. Pratt? No, because he's decent in every way. He enjoys what he earns, doesn't waste, doesn't show off, and is, above all, honorable.”
    â€œAll this heavy talk about a simple invitation. I can't believe it.” Lillian stared at him. “You can be so boring, Donald. Have you any idea how boring you can be? I had such a different impression of you that day we met, that you were vital, and humorous, and open-minded.”
    Strange, he thought as he met her stare, that those are the very qualities for which I am sometimes praised. Still, he stood there looking at her blue eyes as he might have looked at the knives that had stabbed him.
    â€œI'm curious, Donald. What did you think of me when we met?”
    â€œI didn't think. I only felt,” he said.
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    In the wide bed they lay without touching. Lights and shadows moved across the ceiling. Can we have made a mistake? he asked himself. Pain cold as terror ran through him. All this anger, all these words, because of some stranger's worthless invitation! Should he perhaps give in and go? Something said yes, give in, it's not worth the fuss. And something else said no. This goes much deeper than whether we spend those few hours with those particular people or not.
    But how deep, and why, and where does it end?
    In the morning after a few cool, civil words, each of them rushed off to work. Donald's day was a typical one, filled with meetings, papers, telephone calls, and no time for personal affairs. But by early evening when the long day ended, those affairs came flooding back, and he was shocked to realize that he did not want to go right home. So he