"You are here to ask for money, as those who have separated us have been here before you."
"Indeed, you are quite wrong. There has been, there shall be, no separation between us. I love you as I have always done, as I always shall love you. And they appealed to you for money! Did you give it to them?"
"No, nor will I to you."
"Oh, but I need none. You have been since my earliest remembrance most liberal to me, but you cannot accuse me of being mercenary. I should like you to know my wife, I should like you to know and love our child. If you are too busy for that now, we will wait; when you visit us, which surely you will do some day, you will be pleased at the manner in which we shall receive you; all the honor that is due to you shall be cheerfully rendered."
"This mockery must end," said Mr. Manners; "go! But, before you leave, it will, perhaps, be as well for me to say what is in my mind."
"Yes, father," said Kingsley, gently.
"I do not know," said Mr. Manners, in a set, hard tone, "whether I should ever have been inclined to forgive your disobedience and undutifulness; I do not know, after what has passed, whether, you being my son upon whom once all my hopes were centred, I should have been disposed to once more hold out my hand to you. I think it would not have been possible, but there may have been, at least, some remote chance of a partial reconciliation. If there was such a chance, you have utterly destroyed it by your conduct during the past few months."
"What conduct do you refer to?" asked Kingsley, smiling. "You surely are laboring under some delusion!"
"It is no delusion," said Mr. Manners, "that you have been travelling for some time with a person of infamous character and designs!"
"Surely it must be, father. Does the man live? If he does, he will disprove it."