Rose whitened pitifully at the appeal.
“Stop it, Cecil,” said the doctor again. “If you want to be helped out of this mess, you’ve got to be absolutely open. Be a man. You’ve made a bad mistake, but you can retrieve it, I hope and believe, if you’ll speak the whole truth. Would you rather have it out with me, or with your mother?”
“I’ve told my mother the truth,” said Cecil quietly. “I didn’t do what they think. I’m not a thief.”
“Ces!” wailed Rose. For the first time, tearing sobs shook her.
Dr. Lucian caught his breath. “You don’t understand, Cecil. They know you took the cups, and they know that you had them engraved, at your own expense, with laudatory inscriptions that you had done nothing whatever to deserve, and with imaginary accounts of exploits that you never performed.”
His intentional brutality had its effect.
The boy’s flimsy defence broke down, he turned white and hid his face against his arm.
“Oh, no, no!” said Rose under her breath, her imploring eyes on the doctor.
“My dear, I’m afraid it’s true,” he said steadily. “Ah——”
The boy had suddenly thrown himself on the ground, writhing and sobbing.