“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “Let us try and look at it quietly, boy. Don’t do anything in a hurry. You’re in love with the girl, are you? It isn’t a mere flirtation? How the deuce do you know the difference, at your age?”
“Gad!” exclaimed Brook, half angrily. “I know it! that’s all. I can’t live without her. That is—it’s all bosh to talk in that way, you know. One goes on living, I suppose—one doesn’t die. You know what I mean. I’d rather lose an arm than lose her—that sort of thing. How am I to explain it to you? I’m in earnest about it. I never asked any girl to marry me till now. I should think that ought to prove it. You can’t say that I don’t know what married life means.”
“Other people’s married life,” observed Sir Adam, grimly. “You know something about that, I’m afraid.”
“What difference does it make?” asked Brook. “I can’t marry the daughter of my father’s divorced wife.”
“I never heard of a case, simply because such cases don’t arise often. But there’s no earthly reason why you shouldn’t. There is no relationship whatever between you. There’s no mention of it in the table of kindred and affinity, I know, simply because it isn’t kindred or affinity in any way. The world may make its observations. But you may do much more surprising things than marry the daughter of your father’s divorced wife when you are to have forty thousand pounds a year, Brook. I’ve found it out in my time. You’ll find it out in yours. And it isn’t as though there were the least thing about it that wasn’t all fair and square and straight and honourable and legal—and everything else, including the clergy. I supposed that the Archbishop of Canterbury wouldn’t have married me the second time, because the Church isn’t supposed to approve of divorces. But I was married in church all right, by a very good man. And Church disapproval can’t possibly extend to the second generation, you know. Oh no! So far as its being possible goes, there’s nothing to prevent your marrying her.”
“Except Mrs. Crosby,” said Brook. “You’ll prove that she doesn’t exist either, if you go on. But all that doesn’t put things straight. It’s a horrible situation, no matter how you look at it. What would my mother say if she knew? You haven’t told her about the Bowrings, have you?”
“No,” answered Sir Adam, thoughtfully. “I haven’t told her anything. Of course she knows the story, but—I’m not sure. Do you think I’m bound to tell her that—who Mrs. Bowring is? Do you think it’s anything like not fair to her, just to leave her in ignorance of it? If you think so, I’ll tell her at once. That is, I should have to ask Mrs. Bowring first, of course.”
“Of course,” assented Brook. “You can’t do that, unless we go away. Besides, as things are now, what’s the use?”
“She’ll have to know, if you are engaged to the daughter.”
“I’m not engaged to Miss Bowring,” said Brook, disconsolately. “She won’t look at me. What an infernal mess I’ve made of my life!”