“Supposing I told you,” said the father, “that this marriage was absolutely necessary for financial reasons; that the firm was so deeply involved that it must assign unless more capital is secured at once; what would you say to that?”
Clarence smiled grimly, and there was a sarcastic turn to his lip as he replied: “Well, father, to speak honestly, I should think you had been reading some popular novel, and had learned that portion of it by heart which you have just now repeated. I am led to think this to be the case because the house of Walmonth Brothers, of which I have the honour to be the junior partner, has ten thousand pounds in the bank, with fully twenty thousand pounds in bills receivable, and no large bills payable. So you see, father, the extract from the popular novel is not applicable to our case at all.”
Thomas Glynne arose from his chair, clasped his hands behind his back, a favourite position of his, and walked up and down for some time without speaking. Then he opened the door of one of the bookcases and took down a volume which showed marks of great usage. He approached his son and said, solemnly:
“Clarence, this is your mother’s Bible. I am going to tell you something, but you must swear on this book that you will keep what I am going to say to you a secret as long as I wish you to.”
“I dislike secrets,” said Clarence, “and I do not like to take an oath. I will promise not to mention what you say to me, and with me such a promise is as binding and sacred as an oath.”
Mr. Glynne laid the book on the table. “Well, I believe you, Clarence, but remember, I look upon your promise as though it had been an oath.” Then after a pause, “Did I ever tell you that my ward, Bertha Renville, is a rich woman?”
“Well, no,” said Clarence. “You have never treated her as though she was. Her allowance has been quite moderate and, to tell the truth, I have given her considerable money myself when I knew that she wished certain things, and told me that she could not afford to buy them. No, I never had any idea that she was a rich woman. I always supposed that her father was a poor man, but your friend, and that you, with your well-known kindness of heart, had provided for her out of your own bounty.”
“Well,” said Mr. Glynne, “I am glad that has been your opinion, and I mean that the rest of the world shall continue to think so. Now, I am going to tell you the truth. The money with which I bought out the firm of Walmonth Brothers—the money with which I built this house—in fact all the money I have used to satisfy my, as you know, fastidious tastes, in reality belongs to Miss Renville. By the terms of her father’s will, when she marries, I must turn over the property, with accrued interest, to her, and, of course, to her husband. Now, let me ask you the question I asked when you first came in: Will you marry her and keep this money in the family, or will you refuse to do so and lose everything—business, house——”
“Well,” said Clarence, “it seems rather a hard box to put a fellow in, but supposing she wants to marry somebody else?”
The father began to show signs of anger. The genial smile had vanished. “That’s not your business, young man. If she doesn’t marry you, she shan’t marry anybody else; I’ll look out for that.”