'Explain.'
'Well, the letter I found in the hall. Cousin Aggie must have dropped it when going out. I suppose at the time my thoughts had gone a wool-gathering, for I read part of it, enough to cause me to come to the conclusion that you should see it.'
He placed the letter on the table and retired, and there it lay until Mr Blake threw himself into his easy leather-backed chair to smoke. At first he was rather amused, then a shade of disappointment stole over his face, but no anger.
'Stupid boy!' he said. 'When I told him he might have his fling, I didn't mean he was to make a fool of himself.'
Then he got up and paced the floor for a few minutes. Already the evil seed that Gustus had sown so artfully was beginning to swell.
'Confound it all!' said Blake, half-aloud, as he tossed away half a cigar and proceeded to light another, 'that boy can't have much of the real blood of the old Blakes in him. 'Pon my soul, I'd rather he was a trifle wicked than a downright fool. Let me see—he hopes the old dad (that's me) won't take on about this when I (that's Frank) tell him. And it's just "dad," doesn't even honour me with a capital D. No, Frank Antony, the old dad is not going to lose his hair over this. Ah, well, he's only a boy!'
He smoked for a while, then got up to write, for he was a busy man. Presently he took the letter and went to his daughter's room and placed it on the table, meaning to tell Aggie all about it when she returned. But Polly her maid was before him.
'Oh, miss, w'at do you think?'
Aggie was dressing for dinner.
'Think about what, Polly?'