"Oh, Mr. Harrod, you don't really mean that!" said I, hurriedly.
"Mean what?" answered he, without relaxing a muscle of his face.
"That you will give up your work here."
"Indeed I do," answered he, with a little hard laugh, showing those white teeth of his. "A man must do his work his own way, or not at all."
I did not know what more to say. But he did not offer to go now; he stood there, with his hands in his pockets and his back half turned to me.
"Do you think so?" said I, at last, doubtfully.
"Well, if I can't do my work here so that it should be to your father's advantage, I'm cheating him, Miss Maliphant—that's evident, isn't it? And I have a particular wish to be an honest man." There was bitterness in his voice.
"I see that," said I. "Only, if you go away the work will be done much less to father's advantage than if you stay—even though you can't do it just as you wish."
"That has nothing to do with me," answered Harrod, in his hardest voice. "I should harm my reputation by remaining here."