"We were married in haste, Richmond," said Mrs. Parsons, laughing.
"Well, we've taken a long time to repent of it, my dear. It's over thirty years."
"I fancy it's too late now."
The Colonel took her hand and patted it.
"If you get such a good wife as I have, Jamie, I don't think you'll have reason to complain. Will he, my dear?"
"It's not for me to say, Richmond," replied Mrs. Parsons, smiling contentedly.
"Do you want me to get married very much, father?"
"Of course I do. I've set my heart upon it. I want to see what the new generations of Parsons are like before I die."
"Listen, Richmond, Jamie has something to tell us."
Mrs. Parsons had been looking at her son, and was struck at last by the agony of his expression.
"What is it, Jamie?" she asked.
"I'm afraid you'll be dreadfully disappointed. I'm so sorry—Mary and I are no longer engaged to be married."
For a minute there was silence in the room. The old Colonel looked helplessly from wife to son.
"What does he mean, Frances?" he said at last.
Mrs. Parsons did not answer, and he turned to James.
"You're not in earnest, Jamie? You're joking with us?"
James went over to his father, as the weaker of the two, and put his arm round his shoulders.
"I'm awfully sorry to have to grieve you, father. It's quite true—worse luck! It was impossible for me to marry Mary."
"D'you mean that you've broken your engagement with her after she's waited five years for you?" said Mrs. Parsons.
"I couldn't do anything else. I found I no longer loved her. We should both have been unhappy if we had married."
The Colonel recovered himself slowly, he turned round and looked at his son.
"Jamie, Jamie, what have you done?"
"Oh, you can say nothing that I've not said to myself. D'you think it's a step I should have taken lightly? I feel nothing towards Mary but friendship. I don't love her."
"But—" the Colonel stopped, and then a light shone in his face, and he began to laugh. "Oh, it's only a lovers' quarrel, Frances. They've had a little tiff, and they say they'll never speak to one another again. I warrant they're both heartily sorry already, and before night they'll be engaged as fast as ever."
James, by a look, implored his mother to speak. She understood, and shook her head sadly.
"No, Richmond, I'm afraid it's not that. It's serious."
"But Mary loves him, Frances."
"I know," said James. "That's the tragedy of it. If I could only persuade myself that she didn't care for me, it would be all right."
Colonel Parsons sank into his chair, suddenly collapsing. He seemed smaller than ever, wizened and frail; the wisp of white hair that concealed his baldness fell forward grotesquely. His face assumed again that expression, which was almost habitual, of anxious fear.
"Oh, father, don't look like that! I can't help it! Don't make it harder for me than possible. You talk to him, mother. Explain that it's not my fault. There was nothing else I could do."
Colonel Parsons sat silent, with his head bent down, but Mrs. Parsons asked:
"What did you say to Mary this morning?"
"I told her exactly what I felt."
"You said you didn't love her?"
"I had to."
"Poor thing!"
They all remained for a while without speaking, each one thinking his painful thoughts.
"Richmond," said Mrs. Parsons at last, "we mustn't blame the boy. It's not his fault. He can't help it if he doesn't love her."
"You wouldn't have me marry her without love, father?"
The question was answered by Mrs. Parsons.
"No; if you don't love her, you mustn't marry her. But what's to be done, I don't know. Poor thing, poor thing, how unhappy she must be!"
James sat with his face in his hands, utterly wretched, beginning already to see the great circle of confusion that he had caused. Mrs. Parsons looked at him and looked at her husband. Presently she went up to James.
"Jamie, will you leave us for a little? Your father and I would like to talk it over alone."
"Yes, mother."
James got up, and putting her hands on his shoulders, she kissed him.
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."
"Let us send for William. Perhaps he'll be able to advise us."
William was Major Forsyth, the brother of Mrs. Parsons. He was a bachelor, living in London, and considered by his relatives a typical man of the world.
"He'll be able to talk to the boy better than we can."
"Very well, let us send for him."
They were both overcome by the catastrophe, but as yet hardly grasped the full extent of it. All their hopes had been centred on this marriage; all their plans for the future had been in it so intricately woven that they could not realise the total over-throw. They felt as a man might feel who was crippled by a sudden accident, and yet still pictured his life as though he had free use of his limbs.... Mrs. Parsons wrote a telegram, and gave it to the maid. The servant went out of the room, but as she did so, stepped back and announced:
"Miss Clibborn, ma'am."
"Mary!"
The girl came in, and lifted the veil which she had put on to hide her pallor and her eyes, red and heavy with weeping.
"I thought I'd better come round and see you quietly," she said. "I suppose you've heard?"
"Mary, Mary!"
Mrs. Parsons took her in her arms, kissing her tenderly. Mary pretended to laugh, and hastily dried the tears which came to her eyes.
"You've been crying, Mrs. Parsons. You mustn't do that.... Let us sit down and talk sensibly."
She took the Colonel's hand, and gently pressed it.
"Is it true, Mary?" he asked. "I can't believe it."
"Yes, it's quite