‘You have been a year married, and I only learn the fact to-night from the village gossips at the inn where I stopped to eat a crust of bread and cheese on my way here!’
‘You might have seen the announcement in the Times.’
‘I might, but did not. Well, I suppose I surrendered a father’s rights when I gave my child to another man’s keeping; but it seems hard.’
‘Why pain yourself and me with useless reproaches? I am prepared to do all that duty can dictate. I am deeply anxious that your future life should be comfortable and respected. Tell me where you intend to live, and how I can best assure your happiness.’
‘Happiness!’ cried Desrolles, with a derisive shrug. ‘I have never known that since I was five-and-twenty. Where am I going to live, do you ask? Who knows? Not I, you may be sure. I am a wanderer by habit and inclination. Do you think I am going to shut myself in a speculative builder’s brick and mortar box—a semi-detached villa in Camden Town or Islington—and live the monotonous life of a respectable annuitant? That kind of vegetation may suit a retired tradesman, who has spent three-fourths of his life behind the same counter. It would be living death to a man with a mind—a man who has travelled and lived among his fellow-men. No, my dear; you must not attempt to limit my movements by the inch-measure of middle-class respectability. Give me my pittance unfettered by conditions of any kind. Let me receive it quarterly from your London agent, and, since you repudiate my claim to your affection, I pledge myself never again to trouble you with my presence after to-night.’
‘I do not ask that,’ said Laura thoughtfully. ‘It is only right that we should see each other sometimes. By the deception which you practised upon my benefactor, you have made it impossible that I should ever own you as my father before the world. Everybody in Hazlehurst believes that my father died when Jasper Treverton adopted me. But to my husband, at least, I can own the truth: I have shrunk from doing so hitherto, but to-night, while we have been sitting here, I have been thinking that I have acted weakly and foolishly. John Treverton will respect your secret for my sake, and he ought to know it.’
‘Stop,’ cried Desrolles, starting to his feet, and speaking in a louder tone than he had used hitherto. ‘I forbid you to breathe a word of me or my business to your husband. When I revealed myself to you I pledged you to secrecy. I insist——’
He stopped and stood facing the doorway between the two rooms, staring aghast, horror-stricken, as if he had seen a ghost.
‘Great heaven!’ he exclaimed, ‘what brings you here?’
John Treverton stood in the open doorway, a tall, dark figure, in a long velvet dressing-gown. Laura flew to his side.