He left early in the morning, and only Captain Marven bade him adieu. The Captain's hearty handshake was comforting, even though Guy felt, as the warm grasp closed on his, that it was given under false pretences. He loathed himself more than ever at that moment, and there crept into his mind the determination to make amends.
But how? Guy could think of no way, for there was his father to be considered. He would have liked to say to Captain Marven: "You must not take my hand. I have obtained your friendship under false pretences. I have robbed you of your trust. Now I ask you to name the punishment." That would be manly, but it would be treachery to Hora.
Guy groaned in his spirit. One thing he was determined upon. In the future the son should not tread in the steps of his father. Hora's arguments might convince his understanding, but they would not bear the test of practical application. The world was not the agglomeration of warring atoms he had been taught to believe. Honesty was not a pious hypocrisy with which men deluded themselves. A courage for the forbidden was not the greatest of all virtues. Meriel had shattered all these old beliefs. He knew that they were gone forever, that in the future Lynton Hora's predatory philosophy would cease to appeal to him. But he had nothing to take the place of these shattered principles. Nothing but the memory of a girl who, loving him, thrust him away in horror that he should be a thief. He loathed himself because he should be an object of loathing to her. He could not bear the idea that his needs should be supplied by means which awakened her to such disgust. At least it was within his power to alter that. He could go out into the world and make his own way honestly. If he could not win Meriel, at least he could prove himself worthy of her. But that would necessitate his cutting himself adrift from Hora entirely. Well, he would pay that price gladly. He would waste no time before doing so. Yet, though he arrived early in town, he did not go at once to Westminster Mansions.
He found Hora's letter awaiting him at his own abode, and was surprised, even touched, by its contents. Hora seemed to have guessed at the upheaval his opinions had undergone, and to be prepared to meet him halfway. Guy was relieved at the thought. He had dreaded his father's gibes more than aught else, and he wondered what should have happened to have so suddenly made the Commandatore malleable to a mere suggestion—he who had always been so fiercely insistent upon his right to dominate the lives of his children. Guy puzzled for hours for an answer. He did not distrust Hora. The Commandatore had not been accustomed to deceive him.
Thus preyed upon by a whole host of conflicting thoughts, Guy passed the day, and at last the hour arrived when he was due at Westminster Mansions. He was averse to accepting Hora's hospitality, to sit at the table supplied by means he had learnt to detest. In a few hours his thoughts had travelled a tremendous distance. He was not of the type which palters with convictions. Just as whole-heartedly as he had adopted Hora's teachings, he was prepared to tread the path of rectitude. But he felt that he would not be at peace with himself until he had divested himself of every vestige of the products of his evil deeds. Yet, though the acceptance of Hora's invitation savoured of compromise, he realised that it would be ungracious to refuse. Hora had been good to him, even if misguided. There was no need that they should part in anger.
It was with the sense of a prisoner under sentence of death that he dressed. Cornelius might have been a warder assisting him on the execution morn. It was for the last time. To-morrow he would be quite alone. He set his teeth grimly and fought against the feeling of depression as he drove to Westminster Mansions. His mind was abnormally active. He observed details that would have escaped his attention under ordinary circumstances. He saw that the hall porter looked at him curiously, and wondered why. The deferential welcome of the lift man irritated him.
Arrived at the flat he felt in his pocket for the key of the outer door which Lynton Hora had insisted upon his retaining, and he was annoyed to find that he had left it at his chambers. He had intended to leave it behind him. He rang, and the man who opened the door seemed surprised.
"Is my father in?" he asked, as he handed the man his hat.
"No, sir," the man answered.
Guy paused irresolutely. He himself was late. "Won't he be back for dinner?" he asked. Before he could reply the door of the drawing-room opened.