He frowned, bit at his under lip, and moved restlessly on the seat, glancing once and again at the girl’s bright, unclouded face.
“I’m afraid,” he began slowly, “that the matter is not altogether as simple as you suppose. Stanor is not in a position to marry without my consent. I think he has not sufficiently appreciated this fact. If he had consulted me in the first instance I should have endeavoured to prevent—”
She turned her eyes upon him like a frightened child. There was no trace of anger, nor wounded pride—those he could have faced with ease—but the simple shock of the young face smote on his heart.
“I had not seen you, remember!” he cried quickly. “My decision had no personal element. I object at this stage to Stanor becoming engaged to—anybody. He has, no doubt, explained to you our relationship. His parents being dead, I made myself responsible for his training. He may have explained to you also my wish that for a few years he should be free to enjoy his youth without any sense of responsibility?”
Pixie nodded gravely.
“He has. I understood. You had missed those years yourself, and knew they could never come back, so you gave them to him as a gift—young, happy years without a care, that he could treasure up in his mind and remember all his life. ’Twas a big gift! Stanor, and I are grateful to you—”
Stephen Glynn looked at her: a long, thoughtful glance. The programme which he had mapped out for his nephew had been unusual enough to attract much notice. He had been alternately annoyed and amused by the criticism of his neighbours, all of whom seemed incapable of understanding his real motives. It seemed a strange thing that it should be reserved for this slip of a girl to see into his inmost heart. He was touched and impressed, but that “Stanor and I” hardened him to his task.
“Thank you. You do understand. At the moment Stanor may perhaps be inclined to question the wisdom of my programme, but I think in after years he will, as you say, look back. The fact remains, however, that he has not yet tackled the real business of life. He has had, with my concurrence, plenty of change and variety, which I believe in the end will prove of service in his life’s work, and he has stood the test. Many young fellows of his age would have abused their opportunities. He has not done so. My only disappointment has been that he has developed no definite taste, but has been content to flit from one fancy to the next, always carried away by the latest novelty on the horizon.”
Once again she tilted her head and scanned him with her wide, clear eyes.
“You mean Me?” she said quickly. “I’m the ‘Latest Novelty!’ You mean that he’ll change about me, too? Isn’t that what you mean?”