For an instant, John Hubert straightened himself in the chair, then his body collapsed slowly to one side. His high collar alone kept his relaxed, waxy face in position. In a few minutes he had turned quite old.
Otto Füger watched his chief cunningly. He judged from his altered attitude what was the right thing to say.
“We must not despair, sir. At bottom Mr. Christopher is a good, God-fearing young gentleman. It is all the fault of bad company. I always told him so. Those young gentry fellows from the country preyed on him. They have got rich Ulwing’s money. But don’t punish him, sir. I beg of you, let me bear your anger, for have I not sinned more than he for keeping it quiet?”
He hung his head penitently, as if expecting judgment.
“You are a good fellow, Otto,” said John Hubert, deeply touched.
“We will save the reputation of the firm,” young Füger said solemnly. “As for Mr. Christopher, if I may venture to give advice, we shall have to tear him from the tempters. Perhaps abroad....”
“Send him abroad? Yes,” John Hubert became suddenly determined. “That was once the plan of my late father. You advise Frankfurt? All right, let it be Frankfurt.”
The book-keeper had not expected to get his way so easily. He became more enterprising.
“He had better go among unpretentious working-class people, till he settles down. Meanwhile you might like to choose for Miss Anne some level-headed business man as a husband; he might enter the firm as a partner and relieve your mind, sir, of all the worries.”
That was a new hope. John Hubert pulled his necktie up. “A serious man of business to stand by Christopher. Somebody belonging to the family. Anne’s husband....” Thomas Illey’s image intruded unpleasantly on his memory. “We must prevent them from meeting again.” Life had been so exacting to him that now he would insist on getting his own back. He had always been merciless to himself, now he would show no mercy to others.