"I cannot—I cannot!" she moaned, moving a few irresolute steps away from the two between whom her fate lay. She could not speak the word that must bring sorrow to one who was weak, lonely, and already heavily stricken, still less that other word which must crush the young, the strong, and the beloved one.
"Before you ask this young lady to retract," she heard the voice of her lover say; then he paused as if to change the phrase to one more generously worded: "Before you ask her to refuse me for your sake, will you grant me a few moments' private conversation?"
"No, sir," answered the baronet. "I repeat I have said all I have to say to you. I wish this interview to end. Come back with me, Meg."
"You have addressed me as one capable of dishonorable conduct," Mr. Standish resumed quietly. "This young lady's father, sir, if he were alive, would have been the last to apply such a term to me."
"Her father! What do you know of her father?" said Sir Malcolm savagely.
"If Philip Loftdale was her father, I knew him well. He often called me his dearest friend."
Meg, leaning back against the wall, saw her grandfather staring vacantly at the speaker. "What do you mean? Who are you, sir?" he asked.
"Again I ask you, sir," said Mr. Standish with sudden gentleness, "for a few moments' private conversation."
"No, sir; if you have anything to say, speak out before this young lady. I took the step of leading Miss Beecham here that she might judge the merits of the case for herself. I am sorry to have to add that the assertion you have just made, that you were my son's friend, is no recommendation to me. He was unfortunate in his associates."