“You are in rare luck,” said Carter, looking gloomily at Pen, “to have a friend like that.” He walked to the other end of the room and began to stride up and down. He was hurt beyond anything he could have imagined. What was he to do? How was he to endure his own misery? It was bad enough to have a servant in the house who could be dishonest, bad enough to have a clerk who could steal, but here was his own child.
“Did I ever deny you anything?” he said.
“No, father.”
“Couldn’t you come to me and ask me for the money?”
“I was so terrified and afraid—oh, I have no excuse.”
“That is it,” said Angela. “She has no excuse whatever. It is not a case of excuse, it is a case of a girl having done wrong, and being bitterly sorry, and having confessed her fault. Now you come in, sir.”
“I come in, pray?” he said.
He forgot that the speaker was Miss St. Just, she was just a girl addressing him. But there was wonderful power in her voice.
“Of course you come in. What would God do in such a case?”
Carter turned away.