“And the conditions?” he asked.
“Now, don’t you begin hectoring me!”
The bloodshot eyes turned glaring upon the silent figure of Anthony that stood sullenly in the window.
Anthony laughed sadly.
“There is very little of Hector left in me,” he said. “I had hoped to have made a decent competency for the boy—but I have failed.... Perhaps I ought to say that it was not on my own account that I came here. I remember another and very serious reason—one that I thought would appeal to you—and—I think it is the real reason at bottom for your sudden burst of generosity.”
The clinking of the spurs and the striding up and down the room began again:
“I have not forgotten that there is only Ponsonby between master Oliver’s mother and me. I have not forgotten why you married his mother, Master Anthony.... That was why I prophesied.... Prophecy?” He snorted: “Prophecy be hanged! It was a jabbering of dead certainty.”
Anthony’s face flushed hotly:
“There is one thing I will not allow—though the boy rot for it—the lie of omission,” he said.
“Who lies?”