Mr. Pendyce went on:
“I'm not a Puritan, Paramor; I dare say there are allowances to be made for George. I don't even object to the woman herself; she may be too good for Bellew; she must be too good for a fellow like that! But for George to marry her would be ruination. Look at Lady Rose's case! Anyone but a star-gazing fellow like Vigil must see that! It's taboo! It's sheer taboo! And think—think of my—my grandson! No, no, Paramor; no, no, by God!”
The Squire covered his eyes with his hand.
Mr. Paramor, who had no son himself, answered with feeling:
“Now, now, old fellow; it won't come to that!”
“God knows what it will come to, Paramor! My nerve's shaken! You know yourself that if there's a divorce he'll be bound to marry her!”
To this Mr. Paramor made no reply, but pressed his lips together.
“There's your poor dog whining,” he said.
And without waiting for permission he opened the door. Mrs. Pendyce and the spaniel John came in. The Squire looked up and frowned. The spaniel John, panting with delight, rubbed against him. 'I have been through torment, master,' he seemed to say. 'A second separation at present is not possible for me!'
Mrs. Pendyce stood waiting silently, and Mr. Paramor addressed himself to her.