She looked at his quivering face, and said gently: 

“I know, Edward; but if you refuse, I should be afraid, in these days, of what Noel might do.  I told you there’s a streak of desperation in her.”

“Noel will obey me.”

“I wonder!  There are so many of these war marriages now.”

Pierson turned away.

“I think they’re dreadful.  What do they mean—­Just a momentary gratification of passion.  They might just as well not be.”

“They mean pensions, as a rule,” said Thirza calmly.

“Thirza, that is cynical; besides, it doesn’t affect this case.  I can’t bear to think of my little Nollie giving herself for a moment which may come to nothing, or may turn out the beginning of an unhappy marriage.  Who is this boy—­what is he?  I know nothing of him.  How can I give her to him—­it’s impossible!  If they had been engaged some time and I knew something of him—­yes, perhaps; even at her age.  But this hasty passionateness—­it isn’t right, it isn’t decent.  I don’t understand, I really don’t—­how a child like that can want it.  The fact is, she doesn’t know what she’s asking, poor little Nollie.  She can’t know the nature of marriage, and she can’t realise its sacredness.  If only her mother were here!  Talk to her, Thirza; you can say things that I can’t!”

Thirza looked after the retreating figure.  In spite of his cloth, perhaps a little because of it, he seemed to her like a child who had come to show her his sore finger.  And, having finished the arrangement of her flowers, she went out to find her niece.  She had not far to go; for Noel was standing in the hall, quite evidently lying in wait.  They went out together to the avenue.

The girl began at once: 

“It isn’t any use talking to me, Auntie; Cyril is going to get a license.”

“Oh!  So you’ve made up your minds?”

“Quite.”

“Do you think that’s fair by me, Nollie?  Should I have asked him here if I’d thought this was going to happen?”

Noel only smiled.

“Have you the least idea what marriage means?”

Noel nodded.

“Really?”

“Of course.  Gratian is married.  Besides, at school—­”

“Your father is dead against it.  This is a sad thing for him.  He’s a perfect saint, and you oughtn’t to hurt him.  Can’t you wait, at least till Cyril’s next leave?”

“He might never have one, you see.”

The heart of her whose boys were out there too, and might also never have another leave; could not but be responsive to those words.  She looked at her niece, and a dim appreciation of this revolt of life menaced by death, of youth threatened with extinction, stirred in her.  Noel’s teeth were clenched, her lips drawn back, and she was staring in front of her.

“Daddy oughtn’t to mind.  Old people haven’t to fight, and get killed; they oughtn’t to mind us taking what we can.  They’ve had their good time.”