The old gentleman groaned aloud, and caught at the table for support.
“And it is only her love for you,” said Jasper, seeing in Mr. Marlowe’s eyes the counsel that the whole of the truth had better be spoken, “that has made her able not to show it.”
Old Mr. King got out of his chair, and took as many turns around the small room as its space would allow, fuming like a caged animal.
“And what do you want me to do about it, Marlowe?” he demanded presently, stopping short in front of that gentleman’s office-chair.
“I do not want, nor advise anything,” said Mr. Marlowe calmly.
“Well, what do you think I ought to do,” he fumed—“that’s the same thing. Come, speak out and be done with it, man.”
For answer, Mr. Marlowe turned to his desk full of papers. “I’ve talked enough,” he said with his bright smile. “Think it out for yourself, King; you’ll do the right thing.” And he put out his strong hand kindly. The old gentleman grasped it without a word, and hung to it a moment, then clapped on his hat. “I won’t wait for you, Jasper,” he said. “I’m going home.”
“Don’t you want me to go with you, father?” cried Jasper with a glance at Mr. Marlowe.
“You can go just as well as not,” said that gentleman; “there is nothing pressing this afternoon.”
“No, no,” said the old gentleman imperiously; “I’ll go by myself. Good-day, Marlowe.”