“Upon my word!” Roderick threw himself into a chair, and gave a scornful laugh. “By what right do you forbid the banns?”
“While I live, Captain Pym, she shall not marry you.”
“Then my promises are scarcely necessary, are they?” he asked, looking mockingly up and tilting his chair. “You have only to tell your wonderful tale to my uncle, and shew him your beautiful documents. Do so, and go to the devil!”
“As you please,” said Hugh, somewhat astonished. “Unfortunately, in telling the news to Sir Roderick, it must be told to the world, and your family name dragged through the mud.”
Captain Pym had risen to go. He paused.
“What do you want me to say?” he said, savagely. “Tell me what you accuse me of, and I will answer.”
“That is by far more sensible,” said Hugh, seating himself at the table, and drawing an inkstand and blotting-case nearer to him. “Now that you are inclined to listen to reason, the affair assumes a different aspect. You will find that, if you confide in me, I will hold my peace, while you hold the scheme of marriage with your cousin Lilia Pym in abeyance. Think! Can you give me your word?”
Roderick gazed gloomily at the one window. A canary was busily pecking at a morsel of sugar between the bars of its cage; below, in a mews, a man was whistling while he swept the pavement with a bass broom.
What, thought Hugh, was passing in that mind? Was it possible for some good to be left in that careless, cruel nature?
“I will give you my word,” said Roderick at last, somewhat sullenly. “You give me my letters, and I will not advance a step in the matter of marriage with Lilia. Heavens! do you doubt my word?”