There was a long silence, and neither changed his position. Brook watched the back of his father’s head.
“You don’t mind my saying so to you, Brook?” asked the old man, hitching his shoulders.
“Mind? Why?”
“Oh—well—there’s no reason, I suppose. Gad! I wish—I suppose I’m crazy, but I wish to God you could marry the girl, Brook! She’s as good as her mother.”
Brook said nothing, being very much astonished, as well as disturbed.
“Only—I’ll tell you one thing, Brook,” said the voice at the window, speaking into space. “If you do marry her—and if you treat her as I treated her mother—” he turned sharply on both heels and waited a minute—“I’ll be damned if I don’t believe I’d shoot you! ”
“I’d spare you the trouble, and do it myself,” said Brook, roughly.
They were men, at all events, whatever their faults had been and might be, and they looked at the main things of life in very much the same way, like father like son. Another silence followed Brook’s last speech.
“It’s settled now, at all events,” he said in a decided way, after a long time. “What’s the use of talking about it? I don’t know whether you mean to stay here. I shall go away this afternoon.”
Sir Adam sat down again in his low easy chair, and leaned forward, looking at the pattern of the tiles in the floor, his wrists resting on his knees, and his hands hanging down.