The word woman caused the youth to turn pale. He had thought that, to his father at least, his love for Miss Mainwaring was still a secret. No other woman could be meant.
“I do not understand you, papa,” was his evasive response.
“But you do, sir—perfectly. If I gave you the name of this woman, you wouldn’t be any the wiser than you are now; you know it too well. I’ll tell you, for all that. I refer to Miss Belle Mainwaring.”
Henry made no reply, but stood blushing in the presence of his parent.
“And now, sir, about this woman I have only a few words to say—you must give her up.”
“Father!”
“I won’t listen to any of your love-sick appeals. Don’t make them—they’ll only be wasted on me. I repeat, sir, you must give Belle Mainwaring up—at once, absolutely, and for ever!”
“Father,” said the youth, in a firm tone, within his breast love pleading for justice, “you ask me to do what’s not in my power. I acknowledge that between myself and Miss Mainwaring there is something more than the affection of friendship. It has gone further than mere feeling. There have been words—I may say promises—between us. To break them, requires the consent of both parties; and for me to do so, without first consulting her, would be a cruel injustice, to which I cannot lend myself. No, father; not even with the alternative of incurring your displeasure.”
General Harding stood for a moment silent; pretending to reflect, but furtively contemplating his son. A superficial observer could have seen only anger at this filial defiance, where one clever in reading faces might have detected something like admiration mingling with the sentiment. If there was such, however, in his heart, his speech did not show it.
“Enough, sir! You have made up your mind to disobey me? Very well. Understand what this disobedience will cost you. I suppose you know the meaning of an entailed estate?”