"Six months isn't very long," said Ben; "only twenty-six Sundays. You can stand that. Didn't Viola say anything else? She is still fond of you, isn't she?"
"She said so, but I don't understand. If you're fond of anyone you want to be with them. At least, I do. I don't get this fondness that gives you the boot. She said," he went on, "that to be engaged to me was impossible until I had something to do. Her father would never allow it. If I could find something to do, with prospects of an income within six months, she would defy her father and marry me; but she couldn't as it is. Why she doesn't defy him now, I can't see."
"Well," said Ben. "I suppose that a father, as a father, has some rights—at least as long as his daughter is dependent on him."
"But Vi's earning her own living, isn't she?" Toby asked. "Don't you pay her a salary?"
"Not just yet," said Ben. "But we won't go into that. The point is, that she lives at home and Mr. Marquand is her father."
"I had a notion that all this father stuff was out of date," said Toby. "It is, in the novels I've read."
"Only if the children choose to rebel," said Ben. "And neither Viola nor you are going to. Besides, I think he's right. He's Viola's father; he's brought her up. Why should he allow her to become engaged to the first irresponsible young man who comes along?"
"Why do you call me irresponsible?" Toby asked.
"Well, aren't you? Where is your responsibility, anyway? You're only twenty, to begin with. You've only just left Oxford. What do you know?"