CHAPTER II
FATHER AND SON
"The wise sometimes from wisdom's ways depart:
Can youth then hush the dictates of the heart?
Precepts of prudence curb, but can't control
The fierce emotions of the flowing soul."—Byron.
The three young people, after partaking at Fuller's of an excellent tea, returned to Bryanston Square in good time to dress for dinner.
As they entered the house, Mr. Rosenberg emerged from his library on the ground floor, and called to Gerald, who, thus summoned, hung up his hat and walked into the dark, cool room where his father was seated at his roll-top desk, with a letter lying before him.
The elder man looked up at his only son with a kindly, half-rueful expression. "Gerald," he said, "I'm not as a rule tyrannical, and I think you will admit that I don't pry unduly into your affairs."
"I do admit it, father——"
"Well, if I put a question which may seem to you unwarranted, I want you to understand that there is grave reason for it. The question is this. Is there any understanding between yourself and Miss Mynors?"
Gerald flushed, a slow, dark flush, as he seated himself near his father, his eyes on the ground. "No," he said quietly, "not as yet."
"Ha!" The shrewd, kindly eyes above the rims of the reading-glasses were fixed upon him. "That means that you might—eh, Gerald?"