“It was unnecessary. I love my daughter beyond all other treasures I possess. With her future I will take no risks.”
“I have the right to know the charges, General,” insisted Gaston. “I demand it.”
“Well, sir, if you demand it, you will get it. I learned that you are a man of the most dissolute habits and character, that you are a hard drinker, a gambler, a rake and a spendthrift, and that your family’s history is a deplorable one.”
“My family history a deplorable one!” cried Gaston, springing to his feet, with trembling clinched fists and scarlet face on which the blue veins suddenly stood out.
“I begged you to spare me and yourself the pain of this,” replied the General in a softer voice.
“No, I do not ask to be spared. Give me the particulars. What is the stain on my family name?”
“Not a moral one, but in some respects more hopeless, a physical one. I have positive information that your people on one side are what is known in the South as poor white trash—”
Gaston smiled. “I thank you, General, for your frankness. The only wrong of which I complain, is your withholding the name of the liar.”
“There is no use of a fight over such things. I do not wish my daughter’s name to be smirched with it.”
“Her name is as dear to me as it can possibly be to you. Never fear. You are her father, I honour you as such. I thank you for the information. I scorn to stoop to answer. The humour of it forbids an answer if I could stoop to make one. Now, General, I make you this proposition. I am not in a hurry. I will patiently wait any time you see fit to set for any developments in my life and character about which you have doubts. All I ask is the privilege of writing to the woman I love. Is not this reasonable?”