Down went the paper, and Dudley looked into the face of Mr. Wedmore.
"Interesting myself in it! Have I? How do you mean?"
"Well, you've asked a good many questions about this Jacobs, and wondered what had become of him. I fancy you have the answer in that paragraph."
There was a pause, and Dudley seemed to recollect something. Then he said:
"Oh, yes, I think I have. The man has fallen upon bad times, evidently. I—I—I'm sorry for his wife."
"And the man himself—haven't you forgiven him yet?"
Dudley started, and glanced quickly round, as if the simple words had been an accusation.
"Forgiven him? Oh, yes, long ago. At least—" He paused a moment, and then added, inquiringly: "What had I to forgive?"
"Well, to tell the truth, Horne, that's just what I have often asked myself, when you have insisted upon raking up all the details of poor Jacobs's misdeeds! Why, your poor father, who was ruined by his dishonesty, never showed half the animosity you do. I could have understood it if you had suffered by his frauds. But have you? You have been well educated; you have started well in life. And on the whole, no man who has arrived at your age can honestly say that it would have been better for him to start life with a fortune at his back, eh?"
"No."