“You don't really bar me, do you?” and the young man looked so doleful that Soames smiled.
“You may think you're very old,” he said; “but you strike me as extremely young. To rattle ahead of everything is not a proof of maturity.”
“All right, sir; I give you our age. But to show you I mean business—I've got a job.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Joined a publisher; my governor is putting up the stakes.”
Soames put his hand over his mouth—he had so very nearly said: “God help the publisher!” His grey eyes scrutinised the agitated young man.
“I don't dislike you, Mr. Mont, but Fleur is everything to me: Everything—do you understand?”
“Yes, sir, I know; but so she is to me.”
“That's as may be. I'm glad you've told me, however. And now I think there's nothing more to be said.”
“I know it rests with her, sir.”