“I argued from what he had told me of his father,” I replied. “If I am incorrect in my estimate of Sir Philip; if he is not a Christian, a gentleman, an affectionate father, and a man of sense, then, indeed, I reasoned wrongly.”
At this thrust beneath his guard, Sir Philip was silent, and I hastened to follow up my attack.
“Another argument I used—and it seemed to me the strongest—was this: that as Dick had told me of the deep affection Sir Philip felt for Lady Shafthead, I knew his father had a heart which could love a woman devotedly, and he had but to turn back the pages of his own life to find himself reading the same words as his son.”
“Sir Philip loved a lady of his own degree and station,” he answered.
“And Dick a relative of that lady,” I said. “A girl with the same blood in her veins, and a character which no one can impeach. Can Sir Philip?”
“Her character is beside the point,” said he.
“Dick's father would not say so of his son's wife,” I retorted.
Again the baronet seemed at a loss for a fitting answer; and from his expression I think he was on the point of revealing his identity, and sending me forthwith to the devil; but without a pause I hurried up the rest of my artillery.
“Even if Sir Philip remains deaf to all that I have hitherto said, there yet remains this, which must, at least, make him pause. He will be losing a son.”
“And the son will be losing his father.”