The Parson pursued his advantage: “I hope that I have presented this particular case from a new point of view. And I am aware that your sense of what is due to me as well as to yourself may prevent your answering me. You thought, probably, that your only son shared your sense of what is due to your family. Obviously, he didn’t. He is friendly with every pretty girl on your estate. You trusted him, in short.” The Squire nodded. He was not ungrateful at being spared a reply. Hamlin continued in a deeper tone: “You are your boy’s father. I, unhappily, have been constrained to act as father and mother to my girl. She loves Lionel with all her heart and mind. I think that I know something of Lionel. Whatever we may do, Sir Geoffrey, this pair will remain faithful to each other. We meet to-night upon this common ground: we are two profoundly disappointed men. You made your plans for your boy’s marriage; I made plans for my girl. Our hopes are ropes of sand. I urge you solemnly to sanction this marriage, not, I beg you to believe, because of the worldly advantage to Joyce, but because Lionel and she, out of all the world, have chosen each other.” “No,” said the Squire. He rapped out the negative, leaning back in his chair. Much of the starch was out of him; native obstinacy remained. To his credit, let it be recorded that he was not unmoved by Hamlin’s simple, sincere statement. He could appreciate—none better—the Parson’s transparent honesty. And Hamlin’s thrust had almost reached a vital spot. The “no,” in fine, would have been taken by a keener psychologist and one less personally interested than Hamlin as a sign of weakness, not strength. It meant really that the Squire was not prepared to argue his case upon ground chosen by Hamlin. Joyce had been made welcome in his house; more, she had worked faithfully and well in his parish; had he foreseen the possibility of an entanglement, he might have kept her at a distance. Such thoughts filtered through his mind. Back of them remained the conviction that he had the _right_ to interfere in such matters, that he was exercising—reluctantly, if you will—a cherished privilege. Royalties were constrained by law to marry members of their own caste. The same law, unwritten, obtained in his order. You broke that law at your peril. Till now the Pomfrets had held it inviolate. The judicious will agree that the Parson should have “dug himself in” after taking by surprise the first trench. Another man would have done so. Unfortunately, Hamlin’s moral courage was habitually exercised at the expense of his judgment. The curt “no” provoked him terribly. It stood for what he despised and condemned in the Squire and others of his class. It meant the scrapping of argument and reason, the abuse of Authority. But he was fully prepared for it. His manner changed instantly. He, too, assumed authority, vested in him by the touch of Apostolic Hands, an authority he held to be indisputable and omnipotent.