Clarence leaned his head back on the sofa and looked at the chandelier in silence for some moments, then said:
“Yes, he is my father, but not the father he used to be. There are different kinds of fathers. Some are kind and good, others are most unnatural and cruel. Are they entitled to the same love and respect?”
“But was he ever cruel to you before?”
“Never. He has been always most kind and indulgent to all his children, but especially so to Alice and myself.”
“Then, Clarence, for this one fault, all his life of kindness and devotion must not be forgotten.”
“Oh, my darling! are you going to plead for him and forget my misery? My heart is bleeding yet with the pain of leaving home, and if your indulgence to him means that I must bear the burden of his fault, I then—I must suffer alone!”
“I do not wish you to suffer at all. If there is to be any suffering, I shall share it with you. No. All I say is that if Mr. Darrell is so angry at my papa and myself, we had better postpone our wedding until—”
Clarence sprang to his feet, and with hands pressed to his forehead, began pacing the room, greatly agitated, but without speaking a word.
“Clarence, hear me. It will only be for a little while.”
He shook his head, and continued his walk—his mind a prey to the wildest despair.