Page:A Son at the Front (1923) Wharton.djvu/373

"I do—to see that I'm right! If I can't convince you, ask Boylston—ask Adele!"

George sat staring down at the table. For the first time since they had met at Doullens Campton was conscious of reaching his son's inner mind, and of influencing it.

"I wonder if you really love her?" he suddenly risked.

The question did not seem to offend George, scarcely to surprise him. "Of course," he said simply. "Only—well, everything's different nowadays, isn't it? So many of the old ideas have come to seem such humbug. That's what I want to drag her out of—the coils and coils of stale humbug. They were killing her."

"Well—take care you don't," Campton said, thinking that everything was different indeed, as he recalled the reasons young men had had for loving and marrying in his own time.

A faint look of amusement came into George's eyes. "Kill her? Oh, no. I'm gradually bringing her to life. But all this is hard to talk about—yet. By-and-bye you'll understand; she'll show you, we'll show you together. But at present nothing's to be said—to any one, please, not even to mother. Madge thinks this is no time for such things. There, of course, I don't agree; but I must be patient. The secrecy, the under-handedness, are hateful to me; but for her it's all a part of the sacred humbug."