“I should like it,” he said; “but it won’t do, Uncle Paul. My career’s over here in Carnac, and I ought to have been off long enough ago, instead of idling away my time, and growing rusty.”
“Only you feel that you can’t leave the place, eh?”
Geoffrey frowned, and half turned away his head.
“Well,” said the old man, “Rhoda Penwynn is a fine girl, and full of purpose and spirit. There, sit down, man, sit down,” he cried, putting his cane across the door to prevent Geoffrey’s exit. “Can’t you bear to hear a few words of truth?”
Geoffrey looked at him angrily, but he resumed his place.
“I shouldn’t have thought much of her if she hadn’t thrown you over as she did, my lad.”
“Where was her faith?” cried Geoffrey.
“Ah, that’s sentiment, my lad, and not plain common-sense. Every thing looked black against you.”
“Black? Yes; and whose lips ought to have whitened my character?”
“Ah! it was an unlucky affair, Geoffrey, my boy, and we all owe you an apology. But look here: go and see her, and make it up.”