She looked at his young angry face. He was ramping up and down the little boudoir like an animal in a cage. He was adorably young and she loved him. What was she to say?
"I'm not a child," Terry went on. "Things can't stand like this, as Father expects them to, apparently. One doesn't throw over a girl one loves better than life for no reason at all, and Father will give none except that the marriage is unsuitable. How can it be unsuitable except that I am so unworthy of her? Mother"—he stopped suddenly in his pacing to and fro—"you can do anything with Father. Make him see sense. You know my whole happiness depends on this—and hers. It has gone deep with me."
Suddenly he turned away, and putting his two arms on the mantelpiece he laid down his face upon them.
She went to him and stroked his hair softly. He looked up at her and his eyes were miserable, and so young.
"Darling," he said, "you have always been good to me. Can't you talk Father over? I am going away to-morrow. If he persists in this insanity I shall chuck my commission, go off to Canada and try to make a home there for Stella."
"Terry!" The name was wrung from her like a cry.
"You see I couldn't stay, darling, hanging round in the hope that Father might change his mind. I couldn't stick being engaged and not engaged. I should hate to leave you, of course, darling, but then you wouldn't come. You'd never leave Father. He says his decision is final, but he gives me no reason for it. It is the maddest way of treating a man I ever heard. What does he mean by it?"
"He was always a very indulgent father, Terry. If he refuses you a thing you desire so much he must have a good reason."
She felt the feebleness of her plea even before he turned and looked at her.
"That is really foolish, Mother," he said. "I beg your pardon if I am rude. I'm not a child, to be kept in the dark and told that my elders know what is best for me. Do you know his reasons?"