I left my papers, caught up my hat, and went out of the room and the house. I said good morning, but he made no return.
Not until nearly eight o’clock did I re-enter. I had of course made up my mind that Charley and I must part. When I opened the door, I thought at first there was no one there. There were no lights, and the fire had burned low.
‘Is that you, Wilfrid?’ said Charley.
He was lying on the sofa.
‘Yes, Charley,’ I returned.
‘Come in, old fellow. The avenger of blood is not behind me,’ he said, in a mocking tone, as he rose and came to meet me. ‘I’ve been having such a dose of damnation—all for your sake!’
‘I’m very sorry, Charley. But I think we are both to blame. Your father ought to have been told. You see day after day went by, and—somehow—’
‘Tut, tut! never mind. What does it matter—except that it’s a disgrace to be dependent on such a man? I wish I had the courage to starve.’
‘He’s your father, Charley. Nothing can alter that.’
‘That’s the misery of it. And then to tell people God is their father! If he’s like mine, he’s done us a mighty favour in creating us! I can’t say I feel grateful for it. I must turn out to-morrow.’