“No, father—indeed, no. John and I are going to lead a different kind of life. I’ve come to 185 entreat you not to press the bank for that money. We’ll pay it all back, somehow. John and I will earn it, if necessary.”
“Earn it! Rubbish! You couldn’t earn a dime.”
“We’ll repay every penny—if you will only give us time, only stop pressing the bank—”
“I shall do nothing of the sort. You’ve robbed them, not me. You must answer to them. If you’ve got any of it left, pay it back to Ormsby. If your husband is such an idiot as to beggar himself to restore the spoils, more fool he, that’s all I can say. When you steal, steal and stick to it. Never give up money.”
“Father, you’ll not betray me! You won’t tell them—”
“I don’t know. I’ll have to think it over. Get up off your knees, and sit on a chair. That sort of thing has no effect with me. You ought to have found that out long ago.”
She arose wearily, and dropped back limply into the chair like a witness under fire in a court of law. The old man sat chewing the tassel of his cap, and mumbling, sniggering, chuckling, spluttering with indecent mirth.
“Listen to me, madam,” he said at last, leaning forward. “Behind my back you’ve always called me a skinflint, a miser, a villain. I always told you 186 I’d pay you out some day—and now’s my chance. I’m not going to lose anything. I’m going to leave you to your own conscience and to the guidance of your virtuous sky-pilot. People’ll believe anything of a clergyman’s son. They’re a bad lot as a rule, but your boy was not; he was only a fool. But he was my heir. I’d left him everything in my will.”
“Father, you always declared that—”
“Never mind what I declared. It wasn’t safe to trust you with the knowledge while he lived. You would have poisoned me.”