“Don’t ask me for explanations—Chester will tell you about it,” she replied, softly and tenderly.
“Oh, very well, as you please, as you please,” he said, assisting himself to the sherry.
“Will you come up-stairs and see him?” Phœbe asked, putting her hand upon his arm, and wondering for a moment at his changed appearance.
He could not meet the glance of those big inquiring eyes.
“See whom?” he asked loudly and filling another glass.
“See our father,” said Phœbe in a whisper.
The son paused, with the sherry partly raised to his lips, and replaced the full glass upon the table.
“Come,” said Phœbe; “come, I will go with you.”
“No,” he said at length with a great effort, and withdrawing his arm from her gentle touch, “No; by-and-by.”
He dare not look upon that cold white face; for whilst Phœbe was talking, conscience gripped him savagely and made him a coward. He could look at nothing but the floor, and there the very boards seemed to twit him with his infamy and ingratitude.