‘Prejudices,’ said my father bitterly. ‘Prejudices in favour of truth and honour.’
And my mother uttered the worst reproach of all, when in my agitation, I slipped and almost fell in rising—‘Oh, my poor Edward! that I should have lived to think yours the least misfortune that has befallen my sons!’
‘Nay, mother,’ said Clarence, putting Martyn toward her, ‘here is one to make up for us all.’
‘Clarence,’ said my father, ‘your mother did not mean anything but that you and Edward are the comfort of our lives. I wish there were a chance of Griffith redeeming the past as you have done; but I see no hope of that. A man is never ruined till he is married.’
At that moment there was a step in the hall, a knock at the door, and there stood Mr. Frank Fordyce. He looked at us and said, ‘It is true then.’
‘To our shame and sorrow it is,’ said my father. ‘Fordyce, how can we look you in the face?’
‘As my dear good friend, and my father’s,’ said the kind man, shaking him by the hand heartily. ‘Do you think we could blame you for this youth’s conduct? Stay’—for we young ones were about to leave the room. ‘My poor girl knows nothing yet. Her mother luckily got the letter in her bedroom. We can’t put off the Reynoldses, you know, so I came to ask the young people to come up as if nothing had happened, and then Ellen need know nothing till the day is over.’
‘If I can,’ said Emily.
‘You can be capable of self-command, I hope,’ said my mother severely, ‘or you do not deserve to be called a friend.’
Such speeches might not be pleasant, but they were bracing, and we all withdrew to leave the elders to talk it over together, when, as I believe, kind Parson Frank was chiefly concerned to argue my parents out of their shame and humiliation.