“He has disappointed me,” said Colonel Halkett.
“Would you have had him allow a falsehood to enrich him and ruin Nevil, papa?”
“My dear child, I’m sick to death of romantic fellows. I took Blackburn for one of our solid young men. Why should he share his aunt’s fortune?”
“You mean, why should Nevil have money?”
“Well, I do mean that. Besides, the story was not false as far as his intentions went: he confessed it, and I ought to have put it in a postscript. If Nevil wants money, let him learn to behave himself like a gentleman at Steynham.”
“He has not failed.”
“I’ll say, then, behave himself, simply. He considers it a point of honour to get his uncle Everard to go down on his knees to Shrapnel. But he has no moral sense where I should like to see it: none: he confessed it.”
“What were his words, papa?”
“I don’t remember words. He runs over to France, whenever it suits him, to carry on there...” The colonel ended in a hum and buzz.
“Has he been to France lately?” asked Cecilia.