“I am aware of that, sir.”
“Then where are you going? I wish to know.”
“That is my business, sir.”
“You have no cause to show temper,” said Arthur coldly.
“I should not have shown it, sir, had you not presumed to give me orders after dismissing me,” answered Richard.
“I have not dismissed you; I mean to employ you still, only in London instead of here,” said Arthur.
“That is a matter for fresh arrangement with my father,” rejoined Richard, and left him.
Arthur felt a shadow cross him—almost like fear: he had but driven Richard to his grandfather's, and had made an enemy of him! Nor could he feel satisfied with himself; he could not get rid of the thought that what he had done was not quite the thing for a gentleman to do. His trouble was not that he had wronged Richard, but that he had wronged himself, had not acted like his ideal of himself. He did not think of what was right, but of what befitted a gentleman. Such a man is in danger of doing many things unbefitting a gentleman. For the measure of a gentleman is not a man's ideal of himself.
His uneasiness grew as day after day went by, and Barbara did not appear at Mortgrange. He was not aware that Richard saw no more of her than himself. He knew that he was at his grandfather's; he had himself seen him at work at the anvil; but he did not know that the hope in which he lingered there was vain.
Richard waited a week, but no Barbara came to the smithy. He could not endure the thought of going away without seeing her once more. He must once thank her for what she had done for him! He must let her know why he had left Mortgrange.