"I don't mean just physically," Jim continued. "No normal, healthy man's afraid, of course. I suppose it's the danger of my job that gives it a zest. I've never shown myself to be the other sort of coward, either, I hope?"
Sir Reginald just held out his hand.
"Wouldn't it be cowardly, then, to desert the woman I love just at the moment she most wants me? I don't mean that she just wants my love, but she wants my protection. The protection my name can give her. We have a clean record, we Crichtons, haven't we? I shall be smirching it if I desert the woman I promised to marry just because her brother's turned out a bad egg."
"A convict. A felon."
"Yes, yes, but it would make no difference had he been a murderer."
Sir Reginald turned away. His cigar fell into the grate, he leaned his arms on the mantelshelf and buried his face between his hands.
"What do you propose to do?" he asked eventually.
"To announce our engagement at once. Or, if that decision does not meet with her or your approval, to wait a little while and then announce it. I've given her my word, and I'm going to keep it. I'm sorry, father, if it hurts you, but you must see that I'm right."
"I don't see it!" Sir Reginald cried fiercely. Then, after a few moments' silence, "Do you know what it means if you persist in marrying her? It means your career will be ended. You will have to send in your papers."
"I don't think so."