Mr. Wright waved this question aside. "When he came home, I spoke with some severity."
"This quarrel," said Dr. Lavendar, "is not built on such folly as that."
Benjamin Wright shook his head, and made a careless gesture with his trembling hand. "Not—entirely. I reproved him, as I say. And he was impertinent. Impertinent, mind you, to his father! And I—in those days my temper was somewhat quick—I—"
"Yes?"
But Mr. Wright seemed unable to proceed, except to say again,
"I—reproved him."
"But," Dr. Lavendar protested, "you don't mean to tell me that Samuel, just for a reproof, an unkind and unjust reproof, would—why, I cannot believe it!"
"It was not unjust!" Benjamin Wright's melancholy eyes flamed angrily.
"I know, Samuel," said Dr. Lavendar. "He is obstinate; I've told him so a hundred times. And he's conceited—so's everybody, more or less; if in nothing else, we're conceited because we're not conceited. But he's not a fool. So, whether he is right or not, I am sure he thinks he had something more to complain of than a good blowing-up?"
"In a way," said the old man, examining his ridgy finger-nails and speaking with a gasp, "he had. Slightly."
Dr. Lavendar's stern lip trembled with anxiety. "What?"