St.George loved him--so did his precious mother, and Alec, and a host of others.

Should he continue to sit in ashes, swaddled in sackcloth--or should he meet the situation like a man?
Then as his mental vision became accustomed to the glare, two things stood out clear in his mind--to win Kate back, no matter at what cost--and to compel his father's respect.
His mother was the first to hear the music of this new note of resolve, and she had not long to wait.

She had come to town with the colonel--indeed it was at her request that he had ordered the coach instead of coming in on horseback, as was his custom--and was at the moment quietly resting on St.George's big sofa.
"It is all over, mother," Harry cried in a voice so firm and determined that his mother knew at once something unusual had happened--"and you might as well make up your mind to it--I have.

Father walked into the club five minutes ago, looked me square in the face, and cut me dead; and he insulted Uncle George too, who gave him the greatest dressing down you ever heard in your life." He had learned another side of his uncle's character--one he should never cease to be grateful for--his outspoken defence of him before his equals.
Mrs.Rutter half rose from her seat in blank astonishment.

She was a frail little woman with pale-blue eyes and a figure like a curl of smoke.
"Your--father--did not--speak--to--you!" she exclaimed excitedly.