“Oh, I know. He hates the idea of my marrying Isobel. I suppose when I do he will forbid me the house, and cut me off with a shilling, eh?”
Mary looked at him, with a soft gleam in her kind, beautiful eyes.
“Oh, no, he will not do that. And if he wanted to, I should not let him. You know, I have more influence over him than anybody.”
“Except, perhaps, Ticehurst?” suggested Guy, in a tone that was not quite free from bitterness. He was not over-fond of his elder brother.
Mary shook her head.
She was fond of both her brothers, but she was not oblivious of Ticehurst’s faults.
“Don’t worry about that, dear old boy. Eric has no influence over him at all. And when the dreadful deed is done, and Isobel is your wife, dear old dad will rage and fume, and all that. But he will come round in the end, and finish by loving Isobel as much as he does me. Don’t worry. Go on with it.”
Guy kissed her.
“By Jove, you are a pal, Mary. Then I can count on you to back me up.”
“Of course,” was Mary’s confident reply.