The term California sounded in Anthony's brain like the unexpected clash of an immense hell. It banished his pleasant revery in disordered shreds, filling him with sudden dismay.
“I telegraphed Albert yesterday,” the even tones continued, “and have his answer in my pocket. You are to go out to him immediately.”
“But that's impossible,” Anthony interrupted; “it just can't be done.”
“Why not?”
He found himself completely at a loss to give adequate expression to his reason for remaining in Ellerton. His joy was so new that he had scarcely formulated it to himself, it evaded words, defied definition—it was a thing of dreams, a vision in a shining garment, a fountain of life at the bottom of his heart.
“Come; why not?”
“I don't want to go away from Ellerton... just now.”
“That is precisely what you must do. I can understand your desire to remain close by your mother—she has an excuse for you, assistance, at every turn.”
“That isn't the reason; it's... it's,” he boggled horribly, “a girl.”
“Indeed,” his father remarked dryly.