CHAPTER II

AN ONLY SON

Proud, and blissfully happy in his victory, Burke went to his father; and to his father (so far as the latter himself was concerned) he carried a bombsh.e.l.l.

For two reasons John Denby had failed to see what was taking place in his own home. First, because it would never have occurred to him that his son could fall in love with a nursemaid; secondly, because he had systematically absented himself from the house during the most of his sister's visit, preferring to take his sister away with him for drives and walks rather than to stay in the noisy confusion of toys and babies that his home had become. Because of all this, therefore, he was totally unprepared for what his son was bringing to him.

He welcomed the young man with affectionate heartiness.

"Well, my boy, it's good to see you! Where have you been keeping yourself all these two weeks?"

"Why, dad, I've been right here--in fact, I've been very much right here!"

The conscious color that crept to the boy's forehead should have been illuminating. But it was not.

"Yes, yes, very likely, very likely," frowned the man. "But, of course, with so many around-- But soon we'll be by ourselves again. Not but what I'm enjoying your aunt's visit, of course," he added hastily. "But here are two weeks of your vacation gone, and I've scarcely seen you a minute."

"Yes; and that's one thing I wanted to talk about--college," plunged in the boy. "I've decided I don't want to finish my course, dad. I'd rather go into business right away."

The man drew his brows together, but did not look entirely displeased.

"Hm-m, well," he hesitated. "While I should hate not to see you graduated, yet--it's not so bad an idea, after all. I'd be glad to have you here for good that much earlier, son. But why this sudden right-about-face? I thought you were particularly keen for that degree."

Again the telltale color flamed in the boyish cheeks.

"I was--once. But, you see, then I wasn't thinking of--getting married."

"Married!" To John Denby it seemed suddenly that a paralyzing chill clutched his heart and made it skip a beat. This possible future marriage of his son, breaking into their close companionship, was the dreaded shadow that loomed ever ahead. "Nonsense, boy! Time enough to think of that when you've found the girl."

"But I have found her, dad."

John Denby paled perceptibly.

"You have--what?" he demanded. "You don't mean that you've-- Who is she?"

"Helen. Why, dad, you seem surprised," laughed the boy. "Haven't you noticed--suspected?"

"Well, no I haven't," retorted the man grimly. "Why should I? I never heard of the young lady before. What is this--some college tomfoolery? I might have known, I suppose, what would happen."

"College! Why, dad, she's _here_. You know her. It's Helen,--Miss Barnet."

"Here! There's no one here but your aunt and--" He stopped, and half started from his chair. "You don't--you can't mean--your aunt's nursemaid!"

At the scornful emphasis an indignant red dyed the boy's face.

"I didn't think that of you, dad," he rebuked.

Angry as he was, the man was conscious of the hurt the words gave him.

But he held his ground.

"And I did not think this of you, Burke," he rejoined coldly.

"You mean--"

"I mean that I supposed my son would show some consideration as to the woman he chose for his wife."

"Father!" The boyish face set into stern lines. The boyish figure drew itself erect with a majesty that would have been absurd had it not been so palpably serious. "I can't stand much of this sort of thing, even from you. Miss Barnet is everything that is good and true and lovely.

She is in every way worthy--more than worthy. Besides, she is the woman I love--the woman I have asked to be my wife. Please remember that when you speak of her."

John Denby laughed lightly. Sharp words had very evidently been on the end of his tongue, when, with a sudden change of countenance, he relaxed in his chair, and said:--

"Well done, Burke. Your sentiments do you credit, I'm sure. But aren't we getting a little melodramatic? I feel as if I were on the stage of a second-rate theater! However, I stand corrected; and we'll speak very respectfully of the lady hereafter. I have no doubt she is very good and very lovely, as you say; but"--his mouth hardened a little--"I must still insist that she is no fit wife for my son."

"Why not?"

"Obvious reasons."

"I suppose you mean--because she has to work for her living," flashed the boy. "But that--excuse me--seems to me plain sn.o.bbishness. And I must say again I didn't think it of you, dad. I supposed--"

"Come, come, this has gone far enough," interrupted the distraught, sorely tried father of an idolized son. "You're only a boy. You don't know your own mind. You'll fancy yourself in love a dozen times yet before the time comes for you to marry."

"I'm not a boy. I'm a man grown."

"You're not twenty-one yet."

"I shall be next month. And I _do_ know my own mind. You'll see, father, when I'm married."

"But you're not going to be married at present. And you're never going to marry this nursemaid."

"Father!"

"I mean what I say."

"You won't give your consent?"

"Never!"

"Then-- I'll do it without, after next month."

There was a tense moment of silence. Father and son faced each other, angry resentment in their eyes. Then, with a sharp e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n, John Denby got to his feet and strode to the window. When he turned a minute later and came back, the angry resentment was gone. His mouth was stern, but his eyes were pleading. He came straight to his son and put both hands on his shoulders.

"Burke, listen to me," he begged. "I'm doing this for two reasons.

First, to save you from yourself. You've known this girl scarcely two weeks--hardly an adequate preparation for a lifetime of living together.

And just here comes in the second reason. However good and lovely she may be, she couldn't possibly qualify for that long lifetime together, Burke. Simply because she works for her living has nothing to do with it. She has not the tastes or the training that should belong to your wife--that _must_ belong to your wife if she is to make you happy, if she is to take the place of--your mother. And that is the place your wife will take, of course, Burke."

Under the restraining hands on his shoulders the boy stirred restlessly.

"Tastes! Training! What do I care for that? She suits my tastes."