“So is his son’s, I should say,” burst out Waring, throwing his cigarette into the verandah. “Get him a keeper—two keepers, by all means; a baby house, a barrel organ, every comfort, but don’t you be a lunatic. Come home with me. Think of Uncle Dan!”
“Yes, I know very well that Uncle Dan will cast me off; he told me he would, if I remained out here with my father.”
“Cast you off!” almost screamed the other. “Do you mean to tell me that you will never see the colour of his money again?”
“Never.”
“I believe that Miss Gordon has something to say to this scheme, as well as this mad Quixotic idea about your father,” cried Clarence, crimson with excitement. “As for the girl, you must let her slide, we have all been through that; but, for God’s sake, hang on to the uncle, and the coin. You are the only mortal for whom he will open his purse-strings.”
“I have written to him, and told him that I am not going home.”
“Is the letter posted?”
Mark nodded.
“Then,” turning on him fiercely, “you have burnt your boats.”
“I have.”