"Yes, he spent Christmas with us," said Walter.
The Squire threw the match, which had begun to burn his fingers, into the grate. "Why on earth didn't you let me know?" he asked.
"He didn't want me to," replied Walter, taking his seat in one of the shabby easy-chairs.
The Squire thought this over. It affected him disagreeably, making him feel very far from his son. "Was he all right?" he asked.
"Of course, he was worried," said Walter. "He was all right otherwise."
"Well, now, don't you think he's behaving in a most monstrous way?" asked the Squire, anxious to substitute a mood of righteous anger for one of painful longing.
"Well, I can't say I do," replied Walter.
"Oh, he's talked you over. But I'll tell you this, Walter, he shall not marry this woman, and drag us all in the mud. You ought to be doing what you can to stop it, too, instead of encouraging him."
"I'm not encouraging him," said Walter. "It wouldn't make any difference whether I encouraged him or discouraged him, either. He has made up his mind to marry her and he's going to do it."
"I tell you he is not going to do it." The Squire hitched himself forward out of the depths of his chair to give more weight to his pronouncement.