He knelt and took both outcasts in his great strong arms, and for a long time held them in a silence more eloquent than words.
"Well, my dear," she said presently, "aren't you going to tell me all about it?"
That was the woman of it. She knew.
"I'm terribly unhappy," he replied. "Dad and I had a definite show-down after the funeral. His order—not request—is that I shall not call here again."
"Your father is thinking with his head; so he thinks clearly. You, poor dear, are thinking with your heart controlling your head. Of course you'll obey your father. You cannot consider doing anything else."
"I'm not going to give you up," he asserted doggedly.
"Yes; you are going to give me up, dear heart," she replied evenly. "Because I'm going to give you up, and you're much too fine to make it hard for me to do that."
"I'll not risk your contempt for my weakness. It would be a weakness—a contemptible trick—if I should desert you now."
"Your family has a greater claim on you, Donald. You were born to a certain destiny—to be a leader of men, to develop your little world, and make of it a happier place for men and women to dwell in. So, dear love, you're just going to buck up and be spunky and take up your big life-task and perform it like the gentleman you are."
"But what is to become of you?" he demanded, in desperation.