“Now just see what a painful scene you have brought about,” whined the doctor, reproachfully eyeing his wife.
“Indeed,” interrupted Septimus, “I am sorry that the matter should be discussed, for it appears unseemly at such a time: before my poor father’s remains are beneath the earth.”
“If you would only have been silent,” continued the doctor, not heeding the interruption.—“Now pray, my good sir,” he said, turning to Septimus, “go to Messrs Keening and Keening, my solicitors, and—”
“Tell me what it all means, aunt, or I shall go mad!” cried Septimus, catching Mrs Hardon’s hand in both of his, and gazing imploringly in her face.
“Well, the plain truth of the matter is this,” said Mrs Hardon—
“Pray be silent, Mrs Hardon,” said the doctor. “My solicitors—”
“You were not born in wedlock,” said Mrs Hardon.
“Who dares say that is true?” shouted Septimus, with eyes flashing; “who dares speak in that way of my poor mother?” he exclaimed. “It’s a lie—a base lie!” and in spite of Septimus Hardon’s plainness, his years, the dust and shabby clothing, there was in him a nobleness of aspect that made the doctor look mean by comparison, as he stood there furiously eyeing both in turn, and thinking then no more of his father’s money than if it had been so much dirt beneath his feet. That such an aspersion should be cast upon the fame of the mother whose memory he tenderly loved seemed to him monstrous; and it was well for Doctor Hardon that he did not think it necessary to answer the sternly-put question; for most assuredly, had he replied, Septimus would have taken him by the throat.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Mrs Hardon. “All I know is, that it’s very sad, and I’m very, very sorry for you.”
But Doctor Hardon, taken aback at first by the fierce mien of Septimus, had now somewhat recovered his confidence, while the anger of the nephew was as short-lived, so utterly bewildering was the news he now heard; the insult to his mother’s memory, the snatching away of the competence that seemed in his hands, the cool self-possession of his uncle,—all completely staggered him, and he knew not what to say or do.