"Tut, tut! nonsense! Waste of money, indeed! I don't grudge a few hundreds spent on my only son's education, I hope. Things would have come to a pretty pass if that were the case," cried the Squire, turning off at a tangent, as usual, the moment he found his position attacked by the enemy. "I thought the boy would have come to his senses long before the three years were over. I have told him--" And he launched off into a lengthy account of the interview of the night before, repeating his own arguments and his son's replies, while Norah listened with downcast eyes. "There!" he cried in conclusion, "that is the matter in a nutshell, and everyone must see that I am perfectly reasonable and within my rights. Now, my dear, you talk to him; he thinks a great deal of your opinion. Just tell him plainly that if he persists in his folly, he is ruining his life, and behaving in a very wrong, undutiful manner to his mother and to me. Talk to him plainly; don't spare your words!" "I can't do that, Squire. I'm sorry, but I don't agree with you. Rex has given in to your wishes for three whole years, though, from his point of view, it was waste of time. He has worked hard and not grumbled, so that he has kept every word of his promise. Now he asks you to fulfil yours. I am sure you must feel sad and disappointed, but I don't think you ought to be angry with Rex, or call him undutiful." "Eh--eh, what's this? Are you going to side against me? This is a pretty state of affairs. I thought I could count upon your help, and the boy would have listened to what you said. Well, well, I don't know what is coming over the young folk nowadays! Do you mean to say that you _approve_ of Rex going abroad?" "Yes, I do! It is better to be a good planter than a bad lawyer," said Norah steadily; and the Squire pursed up his lips in silence. The girl's words had appealed to his pet theory, and done more to silence objections than any amount of arguing. The Squire was always lecturing other people on the necessity of doing the humblest work as well as it was possible for it to be done, and had been known on occasions to stand still in the middle of a country lane, brandishing his stick while he treated a gang of stone-breakers to a dissertation on the dignity of labour. The thought that his son might perform his duties in an unsatisfactory manner was even more distasteful than the prospect of separation. "Well, well," he sighed irritably, "no one need envy a man for having children! They are nothing but trouble and anxiety from beginning to end. It's better to be without them at all."