"
"I don't know as I care particularly," said Orde.
"But I do. Think--she is my mother."
Orde stirred uneasily with a mental reservation as to selfishness,
but said nothing.
"And think what it means to a girl to be married and go away from
home finally without her parent's consent. It's the most beautiful
and sacred thing in her life, and she wants it to be perfect. It's
worth waiting and fighting a little for. After all, we are both
young, and we have known each other such a very short time."
So she pleaded with him, bringing forward all the unanswerable
arguments built by the long average experience of the world--
arguments which Orde could not refute, but whose falsity to the
situation he felt most keenly. He could not specify without
betraying Gerald's confidence. Raging inwardly, he consented to a
further armistice.
At his hotel he found a telegram. He did not open it until he had
reached his own room. It was from home, urging his immediate return
for the acceptance of some contracted work.
"To hell with the contracted work!" he muttered savagely, and
calling a bell-boy, sent an answer very much to that effect. Then
he plunged his hands into his pockets, stretched out his legs, and
fell into a deep and gloomy meditation.
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