Sir Charles wondered what this inveterate foe could have to say now.
At last Richard said, half sullenly, yet with a touch of compunction, “Sir Charles, you have been more generous than I was. You have laid me under an obligation.”
Sir Charles bowed loftily.
“You would double that obligation if you would prevail on Lady Bassett to keep that old folly of mine secret from my wife and daughter. I am truly ashamed of it; and, whatever my faults may have been, they love and respect me.”
“Mr. Bassett,” said Sir Charles, “my son Compton must be told that he is my heir; but no details injurious to you shall transpire: you may count on absolute secrecy from Lady Bassett and myself.”
“Sir Charles,” said Richard Bassett, faltering for a moment, “I am very much obliged to you, and I begin to be sorry we are enemies. Good-morning.”
The agitation and terror of this scene nearly killed Lady Bassett on the spot. She lay all that day in a state of utter prostration.
Meantime Sir Charles put this and that together, but said nothing. He spoke cheerfully and philosophically to his wife—said it had been a fearful blow, terrible wrench: but it was all for the best; such a son as that would have broken his heart before long.
“Ah, but your wasted affections!” groaned Lady Bassett; and her tears streamed at the thought.
Sir Charles sighed; but said, after a while, “Is affection ever entirely wasted? My love for that young fool enlarged my heart. There was a time he did me a deal of good.”