“Wait a few moments, Thickens,” cried Bayle, flushing, as he saw that his hand was not taken. “Hear me out. You—yes, surely, you have some respect for Mrs Hallam—some love for her sweet child.”
Thickens nodded.
“Think, then, man, of the horrible disgrace—the ruin that would follow your disclosures.”
“Yes; it is very horrid, sir; but I must do my duty. You owned to it last night.”
“Yes, man, yes; but surely there are times when we may try and avert some of the horrors that would fall upon the heads of the innocent and true.”
“That don’t sound like what a parson ought to say,” said Thickens dryly.
Bayle flushed angrily again, but he kept down his wrath.
“James Thickens,” he said coldly, “you mistake me.”
“No,” said Thickens, “you spoke out like a man last night. This morning, sir, you speak like Robert Hallam’s friend.”
“Yes; as his friend—as the friend of his wife; as one who loves his child. Now listen, Thickens. To what amount do you suppose Hallam is a defaulter?”