"You've done the right thing at last, old girl," he wrote. "It would have been better had you done it before; but it's no use wailing about that. Don't let them bully you into retracing your step." Advice that was easier to give than to follow, in view of the general displeasure. There were moments when Prudence felt that if something did not speedily relieve the tension she would be unable to hold out against the combined pressure of her family's disapproval and her father's sorrowful anger. The latter hit her hard. She had not known what it was to be really estranged from him before. "I wish you would try to understand," she pleaded with him once. "I can't bear it when you never speak. I want to talk to you about-- things. I want to make you understand my point of view. You can't really think it right I should marry a man I do not care for." "I do not think it right that you should jilt an honourable man like Edward Morgan," he said. "But if I don't love him?" she insisted. "You married for love." "Yes," he answered. "And there was as great a difference between the ages of your mother and me as between you and the man you have promised to marry. But your mother was happy with me." "Because she loved you," Prudence replied. "Yes," he allowed, and shifted uneasily in his chair and shaded his eyes with his hand. "I think your mother's sense of duty would have kept her to her promise in any case," he added quietly. "There is a code of honour. Prudence, which we, who would keep our own respect and the respect of others, must uphold. In urging the plea for your own happiness you are opposing a selfish consideration against the happiness of a good and just man. You have to think of him as well as of yourself--of his happiness and your honour. I beg you not to jilt him in this heartless manner. It is not right, Prudence. I must continue to set my face against it."