The resentment which springs up in fathers when other fathers dispose of young lives, rose in Robert.
“Dash it all, my dear Ted, that's for Nollie to say. She's a woman now, remember.”
A smile went straying about in the shadows of his brother's face. “A woman? Little Nollie! Bob, I've made a terrible mess of it with my girls.” He hid his lips with his hand, and turned again to the flames. Robert felt a lump in his throat. “Oh! Hang it, old boy, I don't think that. What else could you have done? You take too much on yourself. After all, they're fine girls. I'm sure Nollie's a darling. It's these modern notions, and this war. Cheer up! It'll all dry straight.” He went up to his brother and put a hand on his shoulder. Edward seemed to stiffen under that touch.
“Nothing comes straight,” he said, “unless it's faced; you know that, Bob.”
Robert's face was a study at that moment. His cheeks filled and collapsed again like a dog's when it has been rebuked. His colour deepened, and he rattled some money in a trouser pocket.
“Something in that, of course,” he said gruffly. “All the same, the decision's with Nollie. We'll see what Thirza says. Anyway, there's no hurry. It's a thousand pities you're a parson; the trouble's enough without that:”
Edward shook his head. “My position is nothing; it's the thought of my child, my wife's child. It's sheer pride; and I can't subdue it. I can't fight it down. God forgive me, I rebel.”
And Robert thought: 'By George, he does take it to heart! Well, so should I! I do, as it is!' He took out his pipe, and filled it, pushing the tobacco down and down.
“I'm not a man of the world,” he heard his brother say; “I'm out of touch with many things. It's almost unbearable to me to feel that I'm joining with the world to condemn my own daughter; not for their reasons, perhaps—I don't know; I hope not, but still, I'm against her.”
Robert lit his pipe.