“But—”
“Hear me out, boy, or, confound you, I’ll have you shown the door,” cried the Doctor angrily. Then calming down: “It is most unfortunate, coming at such a time, too. The old writer may well have said that about our pleasant vices and the rods, or whatever it was, to scourge us. Be silent, sir: you shall speak when I have done. I know there was every excuse, living in the same house with a pretty gentle young girl who looked above her station, but was not in her manners. I have known lots of cases. Bit of vanity—good-looking young master—thinks she’ll be a lady—flings herself literally at young fellow’s head. Yes, a young man needs to be superhuman, I may say, under the circumstances.”
“Have you done, Doctor?”
“No, sir, I have not. You will have to go through a kind of probation with Janet—and with me, of course; and in time the matter may perhaps be patched up. Now we will set that aside, and talk about the business matters connected with your father’s decease. Poor old Grantham! It’s a gap out of my life, Clive. We were chums for thirty years. Thank God he did not know of this, poor fellow, for he thought so highly of you, my boy.”
“Would to God he were here now!” cried Clive passionately.
“Amen!”
“To hear his son defend himself. I swear to you, Doctor Praed, by all that is holy, by my dead father lying there at home, and who from the spirit-world may hear my words, I am perfectly innocent. For years I have not had a thought that Janet might not know—that has not been hers. It was all a mistake—a misconception, and in her hurry and readiness to jump at conclusions she believed it.”
“But, my dear boy, do you mean to deny that the unhappy girl, whose words I heard as she knelt by you, has not had a promise of marriage?”
“No, sir—unfortunately no.”
“Then what do you mean?”