"What about that letter, Mr. Guyon?" said Robert Streightley in a cold, hard voice, pointing to the envelope still lying on the table.
"That letter!" echoed Mr. Guyon, his face falling considerably. "Well, my dear Robert, there's no denying that--eh? That letter--you see that young man Frere, Gordon Frere, gentlemanly fellow, good address, and all that kind of thing, has had opportunities of--in fact making his way, which--wilful woman and so on. Gad, if that letter were delivered, there's no knowing how things might turn out!"
Streightley's heart sunk within him, and he turned faint and sick; but he controlled himself sufficiently to say:
"Then you were a little rash in your congratulations, Mr. Guyon?"
"Not at all, my dear boy, not at all. Recollect--I spoke of a contingency. I said--if that letter were delivered."
"If that letter were delivered to Miss Guyon? Do you mean to say that you would dare to Withhold it from her?"
"'Dare' is a very awkward word, my dear Robert. It appears to me that if one could select two men as judges of what should or should not be addressed to a young lady, they would be her father--and her intended husband."
"But that letter!"
"Well, my dear fellow--that letter? Shall I give it to Katharine? Shall we instal Mr. Gordon Frere into what should and what will be your position?--shall I subject myself to a fortnight's confounded rows, and finally saddle myself for life with a 'detrimental' son-in-law? or shall I quietly put it by, and acquaint my daughter with your very delightful proposal? My dear Robert, you look aside and shake your head; but I am an older man than you, and know that I am--that we are--acting for the best. Recollect what the fellow--Kean, I think--says in the play: 'He that is robbed not wanting what is stolen, let him not know it and he's not robbed at all.' Doosid good that, and doosid appropriate. So we'll settle upon that course, eh? and you'll leave all to me?--What! you're not going, my dear boy--you'll stay to luncheon?"
"Not this morning, thank you; not now, Mr. Guyon--I--I must go now!" and Robert Streightley passed into the street, and for the first time in his life felt a sense of shame at his heart, and a desire to shun the glances of those whom he encountered.