Guy argued calmly that Isobel was a lady, and of good family. Certainly her father was not a rich man, this much he had to admit.
The Earl would not listen to reason. He brushed aside all his son’s pleadings. He recovered from his first rage, but he wound up the discussion in a voice of deadly calm.
“You can do as you choose, Guy. You are quite independent, and I daresay if you married a shop girl it would make no difference to your aunt. But please understand this. From the day you make Isobel Clandon your wife, all is over between us. I wash my hands of you. Not a penny of my money, not an atom of my influence. You understand.”
“I quite understand, sir. You force me to choose between yourself and Isobel. Well, if you persist in your determination, I shall choose Isobel. But I am in hopes you will change your mind.”
“Never,” snapped out the Earl viciously. “Go to the devil your own way, as soon as you like. Fancy a manlike you being caught by a baby face.” But Guy smiled to himself. Lord Saxham was a very obstinate man, also a very irritable one. But his bark was worse than his bite. He had often climbed down before. And there was Lady Mary to be reckoned with, who, as a rule, could twist her father round her little finger, even if the process involved some time.
Lord Saxham betook himself next day to the all-powerful Mr Greatorex. He hinted to that impassive gentleman that he wanted to get his son abroad. Mr Greatorex elevated his finely arched eyebrows. “The usual thing, I suppose? An entanglement of some sort?”
“Wants to marry a woman who will ruin his career,” answered the Earl tersely.
“A chorus-girl or something of that sort?” queried Greatorex. He knew that Guy Rossett had mixed in a somewhat fast set, and was prepared to expect the worst of him. “Or, perhaps, a doubtful widow?” He had heard rumours of him and Violet Hargrave.
Lord Saxham shook his head. “No, neither; but just as bad from my point of view. A girl, technically a lady, but no family to speak of, no fortune. He’d marry for love, and tire of her in six months, misery for her as well as for him.”
The Honourable Rupert Greatorex was the scion of a very ancient family himself. He had a proper detestation of mésalliances.