“Yes—Tuesday night.”
Hugh turned to Bransby with a boyish laugh, a very slight flush of embarrassment on his young face, love, pride and victory in his eyes. “I suppose I am in for a wigging, eh?”
“Hugh,” Helen broke in, “Daddy has refused his consent.”
Hugh took a sharp step forward and threw up his head. “Refused his consent? Why?”
She gestured towards her father. She could not say it.
“Why, sir?”
Bransby answered him sadly: “Don’t you know, Hugh?”
“No, sir. Of course I know I am not good enough for her—who could be? But you know I love her very dearly.”
“Hugh,” Bransby said more sorrowfully and sternly, “didn’t you realize that some day you were certain to be found out?”
Stephen Pryde started, but controlled himself instantly.