“And he does not express a shadow of regret for his shameful behaviour before he went away, or for his treatment of me. And yet he talks about ‘his duty to inform me of his return.’ His duty!” repeats the General with bitter sarcasm.
“You know I told you, at the time, you were too hard on him. Things might have been worse.”
“Too hard on him! Might have been worse! Eleanor, are you mad? A son of mine to be threatened with a common breach of promise action by common low people. I don’t see what could be worse.”
“Well, it was only a threat. The boy was imprudent, of course; but then, he was very young.”
“But old in vice, no doubt. But it was not so much the disgraceful affair itself that I felt, as that a son of mine should be mixed up with low, vulgar people.”
“They were not so very low. The father was a professional man—a surgeon in good practice, and—”
“And would assess his daughter’s affections at 4,000 pounds, and would exhibit the young lady in open court as a butt for the ribald wit of a filthy mob, and for the questioning and brow-beating and broad jeers of a set of profligate barristers. Really, Eleanor, I am at a loss to see how lowness and vulgarity could descend much further.”
To this conclusive retort she makes no reply. Then tentatively—
“But don’t you think, Reginald, that he ought to come here now? He ought to be known in the county, if—if—”
“If he is one day to take his place here—is not that what you wanted to say? Well, whether he does so or not depends upon himself. I may bequeath Cranston as I choose. Most men would cast off a son for a tenth of the undutiful conduct Roland has shown towards me; but I waive that. I only desire to be just. Roland will take his place here just as if he were the inheritor at law. But if ever he disgraces himself again, not one shilling will he get from me, and Cranston will go to his brother. So you had better find an early opportunity of warning him.”