"Yes, sir?"
"I don't want you to think I'm meddling—or underestimating Sylvia—"
"I won't think that, no matter what you say."
"How long have you and she been in love with each other? Wasn't it pretty nearly a case of 'first sight'?"
Austin flushed. "It certainly was with me," he said quietly.
"And haven't you—quarrelled from the very beginning, too?"
The boy's flush deepened. "Yes," he said, still more quietly, "we seemed to misunderstand—and antagonize each other."
"Even to-day?"—Then as Austin did not answer, "Now, tell me truthfully—whose fault is it?"
"The first time it was mine," said Austin quickly. "She made me clean up the yard—it needed it, too!—and I was furious! And I was rude—worse than rude—to her for a long time. But since then—"
"You needn't be afraid to say it was hers," remarked Sylvia's uncle dryly. "She wants an absolutely free hand, which isn't good for her to have—she's only twenty-two now, pretty as a picture, and still absolutely inexperienced about many things. She can't bear the thought of dictation, and you're both young and self-willed and proud, and very much in love—which makes the whole thing harder, and not easier, as I suppose you imagine. Now, some women, even in these days, aren't fit to live with until—figuratively speaking—they've been beaten over the head with a club. Sylvia's not that kind. She's not only got to respect her husband's wishes, she's got to want to—and I believe you can make her want to! I think you're absolutely just—and unusually decent. If I didn't I shouldn't dare say all this to you—or let you have her at all, if I could help it. And besides being fair, you know how to express yourself—which some poor fellows unfortunately can't do—they're absolutely tongue-tied. In fact, you're perfectly capable of taking things into your own hands every way, and making a success of it—and if you don't before you're married, neither of you can possibly hope to be happy afterwards."