“I love Guy too,” said the Earl in a less aggressive tone. “I would like also to see him happy. But a man in his position must marry according to the traditions of his family. You are a weak sentimentalist, Mary.”
A rather sad smile crept over the sweet face.
“Perhaps I am, too much for my own peace of mind. But, what I do feel strongly is this—you have no right to dictate to Guy in this matter. He is a second son, he is independent of you. With Ticehurst, it may be different. He has to transmit the family honours, to maintain the family traditions as you call them. In his case, interference may be justifiable. In Guy’s case, I say emphatically not.” The Earl began to splutter again. “My word, the world is coming to something. You talk as if a father had no right, no authority over his children. Look what I have done for him. I wrung this appointment from Greatorex, with my own personal influence.”
Lady Mary laid a light, cool kiss upon his inflamed cheek.
“Dearest father, do try and be just for once. You did not get this appointment solely for Guy’s benefit. You know you don’t care a straw whether he succeeds in his profession. Your real motive was to drive him out of England, so that he should be separated from Isobel Clandon.”
This was too much for Lord Saxham. He burst into volcanic language, inveighing against ungrateful sons and undutiful daughters, and stamped from the room in a blind rage.
Lady Mary smiled a little when he left. How many of these domestic storms had she witnessed! Her father would give way in the end. But there would be a long period of waiting. She got into the car, and drove to the railway station.
The dinner-party was a great success, even if it was slightly overcast with the sadness of farewell. Two people alone can be quite comfortably sad; there is a luxury in woe. But melancholy cannot be permanently maintained amongst four persons. The lovers would not see each other for some time, but, as Mary cheerfully reminded them, Madrid was not quite as far as the Antipodes, and they could write to each other every day, if they wished.
Half-way through the meal, two men entered and took their seats at a small adjoining table; they were both in evening dress. One was a tall, slim Englishman of the well-groomed type. His companion was short and swarthy, evidently a foreigner.
Isobel was the first to observe them. She leaned across the table, and addressed the General in a low voice.