"I can't say that she does," replied John Mansfield, "but discipline is good for us all."
"Well now, listen to me, John Mansfield. The Desmond is getting old and when an old man sets his heart on a thing, it's bad—it's terribly bad to upset him. Let him have all his wishes until the breath leaves his body."
"Sir, why didn't The Desmond write about little Margot before now?"
"He didn't think of her and that's the truth," said Fergus.
"But I did think of her," said John Mansfield. "She's the light of my heart—the joy of my life. Haven't I trained her and loved her and taught her since her father's death when she was barely two years of age? I had hard work to bring Priscilla round to my keeping her at all, but now—now she's my sunshine and joy and you want to take her from me. Don't you think you're a cruel man, Mr. Desmond?"
"No I don't; I'm thinking that the old man won't live long. I expect it is a bit of a sacrifice to you, John Mansfield, but you might think of the old who have so few days before them. And the little one shall have every care and be well taught and even have a dowry provided for her. I am sure your wife would give her consent, and she's her niece—not yours—John Mansfield."
"That's true; Priscilla wouldn't mind," said Mansfield. "She'd be glad to get rid of her."
"Then, man, whyever do you hesitate? You are only her uncle by marriage. You can't keep her away from her grandfather if he wants her."
John Mansfield rose from his seat and walked to the window. He stood there for some time, looking out with a very steady and fixed gaze. At the end of that time the cloud which had covered his brow disappeared. Then he went up to Desmond and laid his delicate and refined hand on the other man's shoulder.
"I won't say any longer that you are doing a cruel thing," he said, "but if it's a case of adoption, I must get Priscilla's leave, and I must go to the present Comte St. Juste and see what he says about his son's child being adopted by the Desmonds. If it's done it must be done properly."