and I didn't know it."

The sound of her voice surprised her. It came from her whole body; it
vibrated like a violin.

"How could he love you? You were a child then."

"I'm not a child now. You'll have to let him marry me."

"I'd rather see you in your coffin. I'd rather see you married to poor
Norman Waugh. And goodness knows I wouldn't like that."

"Your mother didn't like your marrying Papa."

"You surely don't compare Maurice Jourdain with your father?"

"He's faithful. Papa was faithful. I'm faithful too."

"Faithful! To a horrid man like that!"

"He isn't horrid. He's kind and clever and good. He's brave, like Mark.
He'd have been a soldier if he hadn't had to help his mother. And he's
honourable. He said he wouldn't see me or write to me unless you let him.
And he hasn't seen me and he hasn't written. You can't say he isn't
honourable."

"I suppose," her mother said, "he's honourable enough."

"You'll have to let him come. If you don't, I _shall go to him_."