When James had gone, Mrs. Parsons looked compassionately at her husband; he glanced up, and catching her eye, tried to smile. But it was a poor attempt, and it finished with a sigh.
"What's to be done, Richmond?"
Colonel Parsons shook his head without answering.
"I ought to have warned you that something might happen. I saw there was a difference in Jamie's feelings, but I fancied it would pass over. I believed it was only strangeness. Mary is so fond of him, I thought he would soon love her as much as ever."
"But it's not honourable what he's done, Frances," said the old man at last, his voice trembling with emotion. "It's not honourable."
"He can't help it if he doesn't love her."
"It's his duty to marry her. She's waited five years; she's given him the best of her youth—and he jilts her. He can't, Frances; he must behave like a gentleman."
The tears fell down Mrs. Parsons' careworn cheeks—the slow, sparse tears of the woman who has endured much sorrow.
"Don't let us judge him, Richmond. We're so ignorant of the world. You and I are old-fashioned."
"There are no fashions in honesty."