Jon got off the arm of the chair.
'The girl—' thought Jolyon—'there she goes—starting up before him—life itself—eager, pretty, loving!'
"I can't, Father; how can I—just because you say that? Of course I can't!"
"Jon, if you knew the story you would give this up without hesitation; you would have to! Can't you believe me?"
"How can you tell what I should think? Why, I love her better than anything in the world."
Jolyon's face twitched, and he said with painful slowness:
"Better than your mother, Jon?"
From the boy's face, and his clenched fists Jolyon realised the stress and struggle he was going through.
"I don't know," he burst out, "I don't know! But to give Fleur up for nothing—for something I don't understand, for something that I don't believe can really matter half so much, will make me—make me—"
"Make you feel us unjust, put a barrier—yes. But that's better than going on with this."