And let Godfrey say what he would, he was that owner. The other letter was from Guy, and did not fill half a sheet.
“Dear Godfrey,—
“There is a great deal that must be faced and settled. Pray come home at once, for I must know what you mean to do, and the frost made me so good for nothing that I don’t see my way to getting on without help. I am better now, and Staunton is here with me.
“Your affectionate brother,—
“Guy Waynflete.”
This letter brought Godfrey face to face with his own intentions. If he really meant to present himself before Jeanie’s trustees he must know exactly what he had to say to them. There must be no false pretences. He would go back to Ingleby that very day. His decision, when he proclaimed it, roused a chorus of opposition.
“He must come back for the dance on Twelfth Night.”
“Oh yes! I mean to come back,” said Godfrey, steadily, with a glance at Jeanie. “But I must go home now. I’ve sent off a telegram to say so.”
He got off as soon as he could, and told Jeanie as he wished her good-bye that he was coming back again. But he forgot the rose, and left it in a glass on his dressing-table.
On the next morning, on the last day of the old year, the two brothers found themselves alone and face to face, each determined to say his say; Guy watching his big young brother with quiet intentness, and Godfrey heeding nothing but his own purpose. He spoke first—