John Dale shook his head slowly to and fro. "Yes, I must go up. I must see him," he whispered. He rose to his feet and held out his hand. "You're too good, Mr. James. I'm afraid—I'm afraid——"
"You needn't be," Jim interrupted quickly. "Rupert's innocent, I'll swear. Anyway, we'll see to him and see that justice is done."
"Yes; that's so. Justice must be done at all costs." John Dale raised his head and looked proudly at Sir Reginald Crichton's son.
The latter took his hand and shook it warmly. "Then I'll be round with the motor in about an hour's time. Perhaps you'll warn Mr. Despard that you want him to go with you. Anyway, under the circumstances, he could not be left here alone with your daughter, could he?"
He walked to the door, then stopped. "There's something else I would like to say, sir, though it may not seem quite the moment. I love your daughter Marjorie: I hope to make her my wife. With your permission I should like to announce our engagement at once."
It was a long time before Dale replied. "That's impossible now. But I thank you, Mr. Crichton.... It is just the sort of thing I—I would have expected—from Sir Reginald's son."
The old man broke down then, and Jim saw tears coursing down the lined and furrowed cheeks. He bit his lip. "It is not impossible, sir. I want to announce the engagement now; now, at this moment, while this charge is hanging over your son's head. Do you think a thing like that would make any difference to my love for your daughter? It's at this moment she wants my love and the protection of my name. And she shall have it."
Without waiting for a reply he opened the door. Dale stopped him.
"I ought to tell you," he said unsteadily, "that last night Mr. Despard, Rupert's friend, made the same request—told me he loved Marjorie and asked for her hand."
"What did you say?"