“I am waiting, Lionel, for an explanation, and an apology.”
The son answered in the same hard, cold tone:
“I am too proud, father, to explain a fact, which needs no explanation and no apology. Last Sunday afternoon I asked Joyce Hamlin to become my wife, and she did me the honour of accepting me.”
Without pausing to watch the effect of this stunning blow, he turned and left the room. Fishpingle remained at the window.
CHAPTER XV
Sir Geoffrey stood still for a moment after his son had left the room. Then he sat down in the big armchair, staring vacantly at the hearth. His premonition had come true—the boy had stuck a knife into him. Almost in a whisper he murmured hoarsely, “Lionel!”
Fishpingle turned. “Shall I call Master Lionel back?”
“No,” said the Squire.
He spoke drearily. The bloom of his fine maturity seemed to fade. He looked pale and haggard. Fishpingle had a disconcerting glimpse of old age, of old age in its most sorrowful and touching manifestation, solitary, disconsolate, apathetic. The Squire leaned his head upon his hand, as if the weight of thoughts were insupportable.