Harrod was busy filling his pipe, ramming in the tobacco with a stern hand, while Joyce bent forward again over her work.
"No," answered I, promptly. "I came with a message for you, father, from Miss Thorne. She wants you to oblige her by speaking at the Radical meeting to-night."
A cloud gathered on father's brow. "Speak at the Radical meeting!" echoed he. "What ails the girl to make such a request, or you, Meg, to bring it? You know very well I shall speak at no meeting."
"I told her so," said I, curtly; "but she would not take my word."
"This is some of Hoad's work," he said, excitedly. "Why can't the man understand that he won't bully me into doing what I don't intend to do? I don't intend to support James Thorne. I don't consider James Thorne an honest man. Why can't he leave off worrying?"
This speech was not at all like father. There was an amount of irritability, almost of pettiness, in it, which was quite foreign to him; and his saying that Hoad couldn't "bully" him into anything struck me as odd even then, though the more weighty matter that was in my mind made me chiefly impatient to hear my own voice.
"Well, it isn't Mr. Hoad this time, father," said I, hastily. "I'm sure he knew nothing about it. Captain Forrester was to have spoken."
Joyce did not raise her head, but I saw a little frown trouble her smooth brow.
"Forrester!" echoed father. "No, no! You're mistaken, child. I should be disappointed, grievously disappointed," he added, tapping the fingers of one hand on the knuckles of the other, "to think he should be led astray to throw himself in with that lot. Are you quite sure of it, Meg?"
"I am quite sure he was going to speak," said I; "but—"