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"I didn't mean to worry your wife," I continued. "I just was curious, but don't worry about it. It won't happen again."

He shook his head.

"You're my daughter," he said as if the fact just had settled in. "My God, this is ..."

"Terrible, I know."

"No, no. I didn't mean to imply that" He nodded and smiled. "The fact is I've often fantasized about this. I mean, I knew you were going to be born and I couldn't help but wonder about you."

"Everyone couldn't help but wonder but no one cared to do anything about it," I said dryly. "Except my adoptive mother who turned out to be the only one who ever loved me."

"Yes," he said. "That's probably very true. What sort of relationship do you have with Frances Hudson? As I recall, the Hudsons were one of those old Southern aristocratic families."

"I have a very good relationship with her. She's even included me in her will."

"Is that right? Amazing. Well," he said. "You must be a remarkable young lady then. How long are you supposed to remain in London?"

"The school year," I said.

"Well..." He sipped his tea, which I imagined was quite cool by now. "Well I'll have to see more of you. We'll have to get to know each other a bit."

"Why?" I asked coldly.

"Why? Why, simply because... we should know each other. Look," he said, putting his cup down quickly. "You have to understand. Megan and I were rebellious young people then. We had no sense of real responsibility. We were both infatuated with ourselves, our youth, our idealism. We wanted to be at the forefront of causes, fight for a new world. When she became pregnant, it was as if someone had thrown cold water in our faces and woken us to the reality of what we were doing.

"Even so, I volunteered to do right by her, but her parents were devastated, especially her father, and they swept her off. She disappeared from campus one night and I heard from her only once afterward. That's how I knew you had been born and given away for adoption."

"Sold away," I reminded him.

"Yes. I imagine that was the way Everett Hudson wanted to do it: just wipe the error off the record books and then pretend it never happened."

"Didn't you do the same thing?" I tired back at him. He was silent a moment and then he nodded.

"Yes," he admitted. "I did. In fact,I'll confess to being grateful to Everett Hudson. I was in no condition to raise a child. I barely had enough for my own survival, and Everett wouldn't have permitted Megan to marry me or given us anything but his hate and anger if we had.

"Despite all our so-called intelligence and sophistication, we were mere children socially. Neither of us was old enough to do the right thing."

"You were just old enough to do the wrong thing," I said. He blinked as if I had struck him.

"I can appreciate your anger," he said softly.

"Can you? You can read about such things in your precious collection of Shakespeare, I'm sure, but can you have any idea what it must be like for me to have no one, no real roots, no identity? Sometimes, I feel like I'm invisible, like I'm some sort of ghost who never had a body."

His eyes grew sharper, but rather than look offended, he seemed to become more appreciative, almost proud.

"You're a very articulate young lady. A good student, I bet."

"Yes. I worked hard at it because I saw how much it pleased my adoptive mother."

"That's good. But you're not exactly right about me and my understanding your situation. Megan didn't tell you everything about me. I was something of an orphan myself. My parents split up shortly after I was born and I ended up living with my

grandmother, too, only she was sickly and died after a little more than two years. I was then farmed out from one uncle to another and finally to an aunt, who, ironically enough, lived in Richmond, not all that far from where Megan was raised.

"There were many times when I wondered about myself, my identity. I concluded it's something you have to create for yourself anyway. You're not me or Megan or your adoptive mother and you shouldn't be. You should be yourself and from the looks of things, you're well on your way."

"Right," I said. "Nice rationalization. That way no one is responsible, no one's guilty, everyone can go on their merry little way."

He winced as if I had slapped him.