"I have no son," he replied. "I know nothing about the woman you speak of."
"Pardon me, Mr. Lethbridge," I said, "but you have. Your son may not have fallen in with your wishes, but he is your son. Nothing can undo that fact. As for his so-called disobedience, he acted according to his conscience, and——"
Josiah Lethbridge held up his hand, as if in protest.
"We will not speak of that, if you don't mind," he said. "I do not often alter my mind when it is once made up."
Again there was a silence, and I was on the point of refusing his invitation, when he, as if anticipating me, broke out almost eagerly.
"But you must come up to-night, Mr. Erskine," he said. "My wife is so anxious that you should. She is very fond of you. I never saw her take to a stranger as she has taken to you. Naturally, too, she is very anxious."
I tried to read his heart, tried to understand something of the thoughts which were surging through his mind.
"I suppose," he went on, "that you, who know influential people in London, know nothing more of this ghastly business than we do. That is, you know nothing more than what appears in the papers."
"No," I replied; "but what has appeared in the papers has surely made us feel proud that we are Englishmen. You have seen that we have again repulsed the German attack at Ypres?"
"Wholesale murder, I call it!" and his voice became hard as he spoke. "But there, we will not talk about that any more. I shall expect you to-night, then, and will send down the car at a quarter to seven. No, no, I shall accept no refusal. That is settled. I dare not face my wife if I had to go back and say you would not come." And a wintry smile passed over his face.