“No,” said the other, holding out his hand for the paper. “I will keep it—and God help the person who wrote it, when I find him or her!” Next moment he resumed his cold manner and incisive tone. “All that, however, does not exonerate you, though I am not going to dwell on the unsavoury subject of your disgrace—”
“There is no disgrace!” hotly cried Colin.
His father smiled wearily. “Apparently we shall not agree on the meaning of the word. Now may I ask: what are you going to do?”
“As I told you, I am going to London,” replied Colin, holding himself in.
“And then?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Very well.” Mr. Hayward opened a drawer and took out a small bundle of notes. He threw them on to the table, saying, “A hundred pounds. Do as you like, but don’t ask for more—for your own sake.”
“Father,” cried Colin, his anger lost in bitter humiliation. “I swear I did my best at college, only I wasn’t fitted for—”
“We have already discussed that. By the way, I would suggest that you make it convenient to leave here early in the morning instead of to-morrow night, and so spare, in some measure, the feelings of your mother and sisters—”
“You are heartless! I will leave the house now!”