The prey of these pessimistic reflections, Sir Richard had allowed the horse to take his own pace; the progress had been slow and silent; and when the long central aisle of the plantation made an abrupt curve at its conclusion Sir Richard found himself in old Taylor's orchard so suddenly that he had to dismount in a hurry to save his silk hat from being knocked off by the boughs of the apple trees. As his foot touched the ground, he saw in a sun-flecked space about eighty yards from where he was standing two figures disengage from a close embrace. Sir Richard recognized from the color of her auburn hair old Taylor's granddaughter, Elizabeth, and he was on the verge of a smile for youth and love in the summer time when he perceived that the man was his own son, Edward. He raised his riding-crop with a gesture of rage, while the lovers as if even a moment's separation were bitter as death clung together in a fresh embrace, standing heedless of all except their love, heedless of the young apples that fell from time to time from every tree, heedless of the noise Sir Richard's horse made in cropping the tender grass, heedless of Sir Richard's foot stamped upon the ground in anger, nor even looking round when he jerked his horse's bridle, remounted, and galloped back the way he had come down the long central aisle between the larches.
"The damned philandering puppy," he muttered to himself, as he came out from the plantation and set the gray to gallop more swiftly than before over the common land. He paid no attention to the wild commoners, who seeing the baronet return at this furious pace supposed that he had been made aware of their depredations upon the turf and ran to hide from his wrath in the dark bordering beeches. He paid no attention to the geese that flapped across his path except to give the gelding a cruel jab when he swerved in his stride. It was barely two o'clock when Sir Richard reached the Hall, having for the first time in thirty-five years failed at his yearly task of riding round the confines of his ten thousand acres. So deeply enraged was he with his son's conduct that he neither sent up to warn his wife of his early return nor even inquired after her headache. He shut himself in his big library, pacing up and down among the rows of books, the titles of which wrote themselves upon his mind more rapidly but perhaps not less intelligibly than they had written themselves on the minds of generations of Flowers. Sir Richard glared at the busts of poets, orators, and philosophers posed with such unconcern, with such coolness and such contempt above the cornice of the shelves. If Homer, Demosthenes and Plato had not been out of reach, the baronet would have swept them from their perch to the ground. Instead he pulled the bell rope violently.
"When Mr. Edward comes in," he told the butler, "I wish to see him at once."
"Very good, Sir Richard," said the butler apprehensively, and as the old man went out of the library Sir Richard wondered if his son's conduct was already a topic in the steward's room and servants' hall. In the middle of his rage there was a tap at the door, and his wife entered to a gruff summons. Lady Flower was a small, dainty woman whose smallness and daintiness was accentuated by the vast crinolines of the moment. Although she was almost fifty, her black hair lacked the faintest film of gray, her ivory skin showed few lines. To Sir Richard she seemed the same as when thirty-one years ago he had married her. She never came into a room but his mind went back to the first sight of her dressed in a short flounced skirt with her black hair tied high with roses and ribands; and it seemed not she but her clothes which had grown older and more stately with years.
"My dear, what is the matter?" she asked. "What has upset you?"
The distressed father poured out his tale.
"But aren't you taking it all too seriously?" his wife suggested. "Edward has only found a Graziella at Barton. Il y a toujours des petits amoureux...."
"For God's sake don't talk French!" Sir Richard burst in. "There's nothing like French for giving an unpleasant turn to the conversation."
"It was tactless of me," she apologized, seating herself in a high-backed chair where she looked as tranquil and as much assured as one of the classic busts eyeing infinity above the books. "But seriously the Taylor girl is a pretty little thing, and if Edward is not imprudent there is most surely no harm in a few kisses."
"Helen, your remarks border on cynicism," said Sir Richard. "I know that you have always maintained your right to discuss matters which in England I think we have reason in not encouraging women to discuss; but really when your advanced views are applied to your own children I think it is time for me to protest. After all, if you had a French mother, my dear, you are quite definitely and unmistakably English yourself. But please do not let us cover up Edward's behavior with side issues. You know how much I have deplored his laziness, how much I have objected to his spending most of his time here, and how necessary it is for him as a younger son to supplement with a profession any allowance I am able to give him in the future from my own savings. I repeat, you know all this, and yet when I discover that the reason for his continually living with his parents is not the pleasure of their society, but a low passion for the granddaughter of one of his father's tenants, it becomes obvious that Edward's behavior can no longer be tolerated. Of course he has headaches if he behaves like this," Sir Richard went on indignantly. "Of course he finds the air of Pump Court too stuffy in June. You must remember, my dear, that Edward is twenty-eight. We are not discussing the calf love of a schoolboy."