I’d rather see my daughters dead tomorrow than that they should be at the beck and call of the first man that likes to come and whistle for them.”
A queer painful light came into Birkin’s eyes.
“As to that,” he said, “I only know that it’s much more likely that it’s I who am at the beck and call of the woman, than she at mine.”
Again there was a pause. The father was somewhat bewildered.
“I know,” he said, “she’ll please herself—she always has done. I’ve done my best for them, but that doesn’t matter. They’ve got themselves to please, and if they can help it they’ll please nobody but themselves. But she’s a right to consider her mother, and me as well—”
Brangwen was thinking his own thoughts.
“And I tell you this much, I would rather bury them, than see them getting into a lot of loose ways such as you see everywhere nowadays. I’d rather bury them—”