“Don’t see it. I don’t spend much, nor yet get into debt. You’ve got plenty of money, so why should I trouble myself about work?”
“I’d forgive that,” cried the Rector—“I’d forgive your idleness, but when I find that you cannot be trusted, I am compelled to speak.”
“But, my dear,” remonstrated the invalid, “what has poor Cyril done? He did not like the wretched slavery out in the colony, and he could not content himself with the drudgery of a clerk’s desk. Do not be so severe. Be patient, and he will succeed like Frank has done.”
“What has he done?” cried the Rector. “What is he doing but leading such a life as must disgrace us all.”
“Nonsense, father!” cried the young man. “It is no nonsense, sir. Months ago I spoke to you about your conduct, but it has been in vain. People in all directions are noticing your behaviour towards Miss Portlock. Just, too, when your sisters are about to make excellent matches.”
“Miss Portlock!” cried Mrs Mallow, starting. “Oh, Cyril!”
Cyril acted like an animal brought to bay. He began to fight. While there was a chance of his father not being aware of his proceedings, he fenced and parried. Now he spoke out sharply—
“Well, what do people say about my behaviour with Miss Portlock? She’s a very nice ladylike girl, well educated, and sweet and clever, and if I like to chat with her, I shall.”
“Oh, Cyril!” cried his mother again; and then she added, “Is this true?”
“True? Is what true? That I have been to Kilby sometimes to have a chat with Sage Portlock? Of course it is. Why not?”