"Mr. Waverton said that to Mrs. Harry Boyce? Egad, it wasn't civil of Mr.
Waverton. And what did the lady say to him?"
"That's no matter. What do you say to him, sir? Did you intend murder?"
"Lud, Harry, you talk like a ranting parson. It was not your way. Who has put this buzz of morality into your head? I suppose your pretty wife would have you break with your father. He's a low, coarse fellow, faith, who might want some of her money."
"We will leave my wife out, if you please. She will not trouble you. She and I have parted."
"God's my life! What's the quarrel?"
Harry shrugged. "Does one ever know? I was not good enough for her, I believe. And perhaps she was not good enough for me."
"Damn you for a prig," says his father.
"If you like. But you'll remark that I do not complain of her."
"Bah, you make me sick, sir! Not complain of her! That luscious piece! Egad, you should be drunk with her. But you're not a man, Harry, you're a parson."
"Oh, command your emotions! She rebelled against being wed to a man whose father ran about the world compassing murder, to a man who was withal a low fellow, a bastard. So far, it is your affair."