The mention of little Daisy had its effect upon Alan. As his companion waxed wrathful, his own mind became calmer; for a moment he seemed to see himself through Mr. Follingsbee’s spectacles. And then he said:
“I accept your rebuke, for I may have deserved it; certainly I have sufficient reason to feel humble. My unknown champion took pains to inform me that he did not serve me for my own sake; and now you proffer me the same assurance. I have blundered fearfully, but I fail to see what influence my conduct could have upon poor Daisy’s fate.”
“Oh, you do!” Mr. Follingsbee is not quite mollified. “Then you don’t see that Leslie was sorely in need of a friend in whom she could confide—just such a friend as she might have found in you, had you been, or tried to be, a brother to her, instead of a suspicious, egotistical enemy. She could not take her troubles to Archibald, but she might have trusted you—she would have trusted you, had your conduct been what it should.”
“I had not thought of that.” Alan becomes more humble as his accuser continues to ply the lash. “What you say may be true. Be sure, sir, if we ever find Daisy and Leslie, I shall try to make amends.”
“Umph! Then you had better begin now, by taking good advice when it is offered.”
“What do you advise, then?”
“I? nothing, except at second hand. It is this champion of yours who advises.”
“Then what is his advice?”
“He says that you must quit the country at once.”
“Impossible!”