"With many admirers, it is only natural that she should marry again."
And Jim answered, fully aware of the torturing methods used by the man who wished to conquer him, "It is inevitable."
This time Petrie's quiet voice rose in an almost impatient intolerance as he questioned, "And yet you feel—"
But Jim stopped him. There was agony in his voice. "Petrie, don't tempt me. I cannot go. My decision is made and nothing on earth can change it." He walked towards the house as he felt the sudden need of comfort. He wanted to feel his boy's arms about him; that would be his solace. At the window he saw Hal, and a nod brought the child to him.
As he watched him, Petrie said, more to himself than to Jim, "The sentimental man occasions more misery in this world than your downright brutally selfish one." To Jim he put the direct question, "Your decision is final?"
"Final."
"Too bad. Too bad. You are condemning yourself to a living death."
"Oh no; I have my boy. Thank God, I have my boy."
And in those words Petrie knew that the child meant more than all the rest of life to Jim. He knew the type—a type that prevails more especially among Englishmen, perhaps, in whom the need of fatherhood is strongly dominant. Almost prophetically the lawyer laid his hand on the head of the boy, who was standing on the bench playing with his father's kerchief. "The future Earl of Kerhill."
Jim answered, defiantly, "My boy is my boy."