He sat down silently to his books and papers. A couple of official reports lay open, and Victoria knew that he was going to an important county meeting that evening, where he was to be in the chair. Many older men, men who had won their spurs in politics or business, would be there, and it was entirely by their wish—their kindly wish—that Harry would take the lead. They desired to see him treading in the steps of his forefathers.
Perched on the end of his writing table, she watched her son a moment. It seemed to her she saw already what the young face would be like when it was old. A pang struck her.
"Harry—is there anything wrong?"
He looked up quite simply and stretched his hand to her.
"I asked her to marry me last night."
"Well?" The colour rushed into the mother's face.
"No go. She doesn't love me. She wants us to be friends."
Victoria gasped.
"But she's coming to sit to Delorme this afternoon!"
"Because I asked her."