“Do not impose your due. Believe me, I know best. If ever there is need to tell you, you shall be told. Trust me. Has not the girl her due also?”
Gaston’s eyes held Sir William’s a moment. “You are right, sir,” he said, “quite right. I shall not try to know. But if—” He paused.
Sir William spoke:
“There is but one person in the world who knows the child’s father; and I could not ask him, though I have known him long and well—indeed, no.”
“I do not ask to understand more,” Gaston replied. “I almost wish I had known nothing. And yet I will ask one thing: is the girl in comfort and good surroundings?”
“The best—ah, yes, the very best.”
There was a pause, in which both sat thinking; then Sir William wrote out a cheque and offered it, with a hint of emotion. He was recalling how he had done the same with this boy’s father.
Gaston understood. He got up, and said: “Honestly, sir, I don’t know how I shall turn out here; for, if I didn’t like it, it couldn’t hold me, or, if it did, I should probably make things uncomfortable. But I think I shall like it, and I will do my best to make things go well. Good-morning, sir.”
With courteous attention Sir William let his grandson out of the room.
And thus did a young man begin his career as Gaston Belward, gentleman.