Col. G. I don't know what to make of it! Or rather I'm afraid I do know what to make of it! It looks bad. He's not been in bed all night. But it shows he has some conscience left—and that's a comfort.
Enter Mrs. CLIFFORD, peeping round cautiously.
Col. G. What, Clara! you here so early!
Mrs. C. Well, you know, brother, you're so fond of mystery!
Col. G. It's very kind of you to come! But we must be very careful; I can't tell when my master may be home.
Mrs. C. Has he been out all night, then?
Col. G. Oh no; he's just gone.
Mrs. C. I never knew him such an early bird. I made sure he was safe in bed for a couple of hours yet. But I do trust, Walter, you have had enough of this fooling, and are prepared to act like a rational man and a gentleman.
Col. G. On the contrary, Clara, with my usual obstinacy, I am more determined than ever that my boy shall not know me, until, as I told you, I have rendered him such service as may prove me not altogether unworthy to be his father. Twenty years of neglect will be hard to surmount.
Mrs. C. But mere menial service cannot discharge the least portion of your obligations. As his father alone can you really serve him.