A shudder ran through him, a pang of worse than wounded pride.
Become a pensioner of Stephen Davenant’s! No, it was simply impossible. White and haggard with the struggle that was going on within him, he turned upon the smiling face.
“What you want—what you propose, is impossible,” he said, hoarsely. “I cannot and will not do it. I would rather beg my bread——”
Stephen smiled. It was a delicious moment for him, and he prolonged it.
“My dear Jack! what would Mr. Gideon Rolfe say if I gave his daughter to a beggar? I use your own words. It is ridiculous. But come, sit down. Grieved as I am at what I must call your mistaken obstinacy, I can’t help being touched by it. You always were willful, my dear Jack, always. Alas! it was that very willfulness that estranged you from my uncle——”
“No more of that,” said Jack, sternly.
Stephen made a gesture with his hand.
“And it would, if another man were in my place, rob you of your sweetheart; but it shall not. I am determined to prove to you, my dear Jack, that my desire to be a friend is sincere and true. Let me think. There may be some loophole in your pride which I can creep in at.”
Jack went back to his seat and lit another cigar, and Stephen appeared lost in thought, but in reality he watched through his fingers, and gloated over the despair and trouble depicted on Jack’s miserable countenance.
“Yes, I have it. Come, Jack, you won’t refuse assistance when it comes from the hand of her Majesty? You won’t object to a government appointment?”