“Yes, uncle,” says Miss Virginia. She always called him “uncle,” though he wasn’t any relation.
“It’s shameful!” cried Mr Barclay. “The result will be that they will give you notice and go.”
“Good job, too,” said Sir John. “I don’t like them, and I wish they had not come.”
“How can you be so unreasonable, father?” cried the young man hotly.
“Look here, Bar,” says Sir John—(“Fold that letter and seal it with my seal, ’Ginny”)—“look here, Bar.”
I glanced at the young man, and saw him pass his hand across his forehead so roughly that the big signet ring he wore—the old-fashioned one Sir John gave him many years before, and which fitted so tightly now that it wouldn’t come over the joint—made quite a red mark on his brow.
“I don’t know what you are going to say, father,” cried Mr Barclay quickly; “but, for Heaven’s sake, don’t treat me as a boy any longer, and I implore you not to send that letter.”
There was a minute’s silence, during which I could hear Mr Barclay breathing hard. Then Sir John began again. “Look here, sir,” he said. “Over and over again, you’ve wanted to go away and travel, and I’ve said I didn’t want you to go. During the past three months you’ve altered your mind.”
“Altered my mind, sir?” says the young man sharply.
“Yes, sir; and I’ve altered mine. That’s fair. Now, you don’t want to go, and I want you to.”