Then George spoke some bitter words and marched out of his father’s presence, vowing that he should see his face no more.
‘I’m young and strong, and I’ll be independent of you,’ he said. ‘You say I’m no son of yours—so be it. From this moment I renounce my name. I have no father—you have no son. Leave your money to the missionaries, or do what the deuce you like with it. You can’t take it to heaven with you when you die.’
With these words the young man strode out of his father’s presence, bade the servants in a loud voice pack up his things and send them up to Waterloo Station the next day, as he was going on a journey; and then he walked hastily down the Avenue, his small travelling-bag in his hand, and went to the spot where Bess was anxiously awaiting the result of the interview.
‘Oh, George, what will you do?’ moaned the girl.
‘Do, my darling?’ answered the young man, looking at her lovingly, and then stooping down and kissing her. ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll marry you, and we’ll settle down into a hardworking young couple, and perhaps, some day, if we’re good, we shall have a public-house.’
Bess was hot and cold, and the rich blood faded from her olive cheeks only to rush back again and suffuse them with a burning crimson, for George’s sudden proposition had turned her first giddy and then faint; but, confused and troubled as she was, she could not help laughing at the idea of George keeping a public-house.
In spite of his gay manner, there is no doubt he was in earnest in his offer to Bess.
‘You’ll keep me steady,’ he went on, in reply to her remonstrances.
‘I’m a ship without a rudder now, and I might drift on to the rocks. You’ll keep me straight for port. I know you will, little woman.’
‘But, George, think of your friends.’