“I must leave you, darling!” he said. “I cannot subject you to the risk of such another outrage! I fear sometimes my mother may be what she would have you think me. I ought to have said, I hope she is. It would be the only possible excuse for her behaviour. The natural end of loving one's own way, is to go mad. If you don't get it, you go mad; if you do get it, you go madder—that's all the difference!—I must go!”
I tried to expostulate with him, but it was of no use.
“Where will you go?” I said. “You cannot go home!”
“I would at once,” he answered, “if I could take the reins in my own hands. But I will go to London, and see the family-lawyer. He will tell me what I had better do.”
“You have no money!” I said.
“How do you know that?” he returned with a smile. “Have you been searching my pockets?”
“John!” I cried.
He broke into a merry laugh.
“Your uncle will lend me a five-pound-note,” he said.
“He will lend you as much as you want; but I don't think he's in the house,” I answered. “I have two myself, though! I'll run and fetch them.”