We went. I drew up the blinds, then stood with my back to the light, facing him. He offered me a chair. I declined. No man who has accused you of having been of unsound mind shall be invited to seat himself in this, your, house if I can prevent it.
He stared at me, I stared at him. He began a speech, muddling the words and clearing his throat. Then he accused me of being in league with him—to have influenced you to disinherit Roderick.
I said: “Excuse me; but I fail to understand what my cousin Roderick has to do with the matter.”
He told me that you had made Roderick your heir in a previous will, and that you had intended us to marry.
I laughed. That made him very angry. He stamped about the room, said many things I could not understand; but finished off by saying that “everything was exactly as he expected,” which was plain enough.
I said what I felt, for I was really sorry for him. I said: “I am glad of that. It seems to me that what one expects so seldom happens.”
Just then Mrs. Mervyn came in, looking quite frightened. (How frightened—or rather timid—these believers in all sorts of unseen extraordinary things are!) He and she looked at each other; then he went out, and she came to me and said:
“My darling, this is dreadful for you, I am sure! But I know he meant it well.”
I said: “He!—who?”
“Your poor, dear father!” she said.