"Exactly that," said Craddock. "But I ask your forgiveness. I always liked you."
Charles did not answer at once, because he did not know whether he forgave Craddock or not. Certainly he did not want to injure him, he felt he could go no further than that.
"I intend to forgive you," he said. "That will have to do ..."
Even as he spoke all the innate generosity of the boy surged up in rebellion at this shabby speech, and the shabbier hesitation of thought that had prompted it.
"No, that won't have to do," he said quickly. "I should be ashamed to let that do. Forgive you? Why yes, of course. And now for the rest. You owe Mr. Wroughton five thousand pounds. There is no reason, I suppose, why you should see him and explain? I take it that you will send him his money. Is that so?"
"That shall be done."
"Right. About me, what you said about me, I mean. You must write to him, I think. You must withdraw what you said. Perhaps you had better do that at once."
"Yes."
Charles got up.
"I will go then," he said. "My properties shall have left your studio by to-morrow evening. There is nothing more to settle, I think."