.

"I don't know," he burst out, "I don't know! But to give Fleur up for
nothing--for something I don't understand, for something that I don't
believe can really matter half so much, will make me--make me...."

"Make you feel us unjust, put a barrier--yes. But that's better than
going on with this."

"I can't. Fleur loves me, and I love her. You want me to trust you;
why don't you trust me, Father? We wouldn't want to know anything--we
wouldn't let it make any difference. It'll only make us both love you
and Mother all the more."

Jolyon put his hand into his breast pocket, but brought it out again
empty, and sat, clucking his tongue against his teeth.

"Think what your mother's been to you, Jon! She has nothing but you; I
shan't last much longer."

"Why not? It isn't fair to--Why not?"

"Well," said Jolyon, rather coldly, "because the doctors tell me I
shan't; that's all."

"Oh, Dad!" cried Jon, and burst into tears.

This downbreak of his son, whom he had not seen cry since he was ten,
moved Jolyon terribly. He recognised to the full how fearfully soft the
boy's heart was, how much he would suffer in this business, and in life
generally. And he reached out his hand helplessly--not wishing, indeed
not daring to get up.

"Dear man," he said, "don't--or you'll make me!"

Jon smothered down his paroxysm, and stood with face averted, very
still.

'What now?' thought Jolyon. 'What can I say to move him?'

"By the way, don't speak of that to Mother," he said; "she has enough to
frighten her with this affair of yours. I know how you feel. But, Jon,
you know her and me well enough to be sure we wouldn't wish to spoil
your happiness lightly. Why, my dear boy, we don't care for anything but
your happiness--at least, with me it's just yours and Mother's and with
her just yours. It's all the future for you both that's at stake."

Jon turned. His face was deadly pale; his eyes, deep in his head, seemed
to burn.

"What is it? What is it? Don't keep me like this!"

Jolyon, who knew that he was beaten, thrust his hand again into his
breast pocket, and sat for a full minute, breathing with difficulty, his
eyes closed. The thought passed through his mind: 'I've had a good long
innings--some pretty bitter moments--this is the worst!' Then he brought
his hand out with the letter, and said with a sort of fatigue: "Well,
Jon, if you hadn't come to-day, I was going to send you this. I wanted
to spare you--I wanted to spa