He laughed again—­

“I don’t know that the cows have any particular fancy for me, but I’ll go and see what I can do.”

“I’m sorry not to have succeeded better,” said his brother.

The elder Trevor was only two years older than Martin, but his looks gave him more.  His features were blunter, more humorous, and his face was already lined, while his hands looked work-worn.  He wore a rough grey cassock buttoned up to his chin.

“You should have preached to them,” said Sir Harry, “like St. Francis of something or other.  You should have called them your sisters and they’d have showered down their milk in gallons.  What’s the good of being a monk if you can’t work miracles?”

“I leave that to St. Francis Dennett—­I’m quite convinced that cows are milked only supernaturally, and I find it very difficult even to be natural with them.  Perhaps Martin will take me in hand and show me that much.”

“I don’t think I need.  I hear the servants coming in.”

“Thank God,” exclaimed Sir Harry, “now perhaps we shall get our food cooked.  Martin’s already had dinner, Lawrence—­he had it with Joanna Godden.  Martin, I don’t know that I like your having dinner with Joanna Godden.  It marks you—­they’ll talk about it at the Woolpack for weeks, and it’ll probably end in your having to marry her to make her an honest woman.”

“That’s what I mean to do—­to marry her.”

The words broke out of him.  He had certainly not meant to tell his father anything just yet.  Apart from his natural reserve, Sir Harry was not the man he would have chosen for such confidences till they became inevitable.  The fact that his father was still emotionally young and had love affairs of his own gave him feelings of repugnance and irritation—­he could have endured the conventionally paternal praise or blame, but he was vaguely outraged by the queer basis of equality from which Sir Harry dealt with his experiences.  But now the truth was out.  What would they say, these two?—­The old rake who refused to turn his back on youth and love, and the triple-vowed religious who had renounced both before he had enjoyed either.

Sir Harry was the first to speak.

“Martin, I am an old man, who will soon be forced to dye his hair, and really my constitution is not equal to these shocks.  What on earth makes you think you want to marry Joanna Godden?”

“I love her.”

“A most desperate situation.  But surely marriage is rather a drastic remedy.”

“Well, don’t let’s talk about it any longer.  I’m going to dress—­Saville will be here in a quarter of an hour.”

“But I must talk about it.  Hang it all, I’m your father—­I’m the father of both of you, though you don’t like it a bit and would rather forget it.  Martin, you mustn’t marry Joanna Godden however much you love her.  It would be a silly mistake—­she’s not your equal, and she’s not your type.  Have you asked her?”