“Please don't say any more about it, Simon,” he pleaded in deep distress.
A sudden idea struck me. I reflected, walked to the window, and, having made up my mind, sat down again. I had a weapon to hand which I had overlooked, and with the discovery came a weak craving for the boy's sympathy. I believe I care more for him than for any living creature. I decided to give him some notion of my position.
Sooner or later he would have to learn it.
“I would rather like to tell you something,” said I, “about my engagement—in confidence, of course. When Eleanor Faversham comes back I propose to ask her to release me from it.”
He drew a long breath. “I'm glad. She's an awfully nice girl, but she's no more in love with you than my mother is. But it'll be rather difficult, won't it?”
“I don't think so,” I replied, shaking my head. “It's a question of health. My doctors absolutely forbid it.”
A look of affectionate alarm sprang into his eyes. He broke into sympathy. My health? Why had I not told him before? In Heaven's name, what was the matter with me?
“Something silly,” said I. “Nothing you need worry about on my account. Only I must go piano for the rest of my days. Marriage isn't to be thought of. There is something else I must tell you. I must resign my seat.”
“Resign your seat? Give up Parliament? When?”
“As soon as possible.”