‘You must tell me.’
‘I will not.’
There was a short silence. Phil leant against the mantel-shelf looking straight at his father, and waited for him to speak.
Meadowes folded his arms, unfolded them, leant back in his chair, finally spoke—
‘Well, that is straight speech, my son, and mine shall be as straight: After this time you shall not with my permission have word or look again for Miss Caroline Shepley.’
‘Have you aught against Carrie Shepley, sir?’ asked Phil. He burned to tell his father all he knew, but the dread of bringing Peter into disgrace tied his tongue—he must try to extract the story for himself.
‘I have: let that suffice you. Philip,’ cried his father, starting forward in his seat, ‘Philip, you are too young to question my commands after this fashion. Enough that I tell you to have no further speech with this young woman. ’Tis not for you to gainsay me.’
Phil drew himself up quickly from the easy lounging attitude he had stood in.
‘Sir,’ he said, ‘speak with Carrie? I will speak with her, yes, and court her, yes, and marry her—that I’ll do if Heaven so send that she’ll have me.’
‘On how long acquaintance have you taken this resolve?’ asked his father dryly.