“Have you not? Have you not always, sir, accounted me a child of sin?”
“Which you are, in the fullest sense.”
The admission seemed to slip out of him, in his agitation, unintentionally. Having made it, he stooped, and hurriedly took a nerve pill. He always carried a box of them about with him.
“It is what I understand,” I said quietly. “Of whose sin, in the first instance? Mr Pugsley, who was my father?”
He was very much upset. His hands on the paper shook like leaves.
“What has happened?” he said. “Why are you asking me these questions?”
“Let it be enough, sir, that I am asking them.”
“Well, I don’t know.”
“Think again, sir.”
“Do you doubt my honour, young man? I tell you I don’t know.”