‘Oh, I will—I will, papa!’ says Susan, throwing her arms round his neck. It seems such an easy request. And all her fear of him seems gone. She clings to him. And the father presses her closely to him, but nervously, as if afraid of breaking down.
Crosby can see how it is, and touches Susan lightly on the arm.
‘Go into the garden,’ he whispers to her. ‘I will meet you there presently.’
There is a last quick embrace between father and daughter, and Susan, who is now crying softly, leaves the room.
‘You will let me have her,’ says Crosby, turning to the Rector. ‘And I thank you for the gift. I think’—earnestly—‘you know enough of me to understand how I shall prize it.’
Mr. Barry comes back from the window.
‘It is such a relief,’ says he quickly, and with extraordinary honesty. ‘It will be a weight off my mind. It is such a prospect as I could never have dreamed of for her. They tell me’—absently—‘that she is very pretty; her mother, at that age——’ He does not continue his sentence. A heavy sigh escapes him. ‘I have had great trouble lately,’ says he, after a minute or two, ‘and this, coming unexpectedly, has unnerved me.’
‘There shall be no more trouble that I can prevent,’ says Crosby gently, calmly, yet with strength. ‘You must think of me from to-day as your son.’ He pauses. ‘By-the-by, I hear that there is some little difficulty about Carew’s continuing his profession. That would be a pity, considering how far he has gone. We must not allow that.’
‘There is no “we” in it,’ says Mr. Barry, his thin white face now whiter. ‘I can do nothing in the matter. As you have heard so much, you, of course, know that the money that I had laid by for Carew’s start in life has been lost.’
‘That failure of a bank? Yes; but——’