“It is not difficult to guess, Mr. Ormsby. It is the sad business of the checks. I hear you have issued a warrant for my son’s arrest, and you can scarcely expect to be received as a welcome guest in this house. What have you to say to me?”
“Only this, Mr. Swinton. If your son likes to give himself up, we will deal with him as leniently as possible to avoid delay and—expense. There’ll be no question of refunding the money. My co-directors are willing to put in a plea for the unfortunate young man as a first offender, on certain conditions.”
“And the conditions?”
“That he undertakes not to molest or in any way pursue Miss Dora Dundas.”
“Molest is rather a hard word, Mr. Ormsby. I am aware of the rivalry between you and my son, and I recognize that he has made a dangerous enemy. Surely, Miss Dundas is the best judge of her own feelings?”
“Miss Dundas would have married me but for the return of your scapegrace son,” cried Ormsby, flashing out. “He has seen her, and has upset all my plans.”
“Yes, he has seen her—” The words slipped out before the clergyman knew what he was saying. 285
“Ah, he has seen her,” cried Ormsby, sharply. “So, he’s either at Asherton Hall—or here.”
“I—I didn’t say that!” gasped the rector. “This house is mine—you have no right—Dear, dear, I don’t know what I’m doing, or what I’m saying.”
“You have said enough, Mr. Swinton. Your son is in this house. I have him, at last.”