"Because," faltered he, "I have a prior attachment. Indeed, am bound—"
"Prior attachment! d—d stuff!" cried the angry peer. "Whom have you seen, I should like to know, except some garrison hack at the ports you have stopped at! By ——, it is not Kate, I hope?"
Dutton shook his head. He would have been amused at any other moment.
"No, much worse, no doubt. Listen, Harry. It is bad enough your having made a fool of that very nice girl; but, if ever you wish to be master of this house, the sooner you get rid of all disgraceful entanglements, the better."
Dutton's good angel battled hard with the tempter, but the latter held him silent.
Lord Bromley spoke again, but his voice, though stern, was broken.
"I disinherited my only son for a marriage that displeased me, by which you have benefited. He died unreconciled to me. You may judge what quarter you would get in a similar offence!"
The old peer's face had turned to granite. A variety of expressions shifted across Harry's while his uncle continued,—"Yes, you had better go to town, as you have raised expectations here you seem to have no intention of fulfilling—at present," and he rose from his chair and held out his hand to his nephew. "Good-bye, Harry. You have something else to think of now; and when you return I hope you will have more sense."
It was not manly—it was not heroic—but with the wisdom of the children of this world, Dutton passed from his uncle's presence with his secret still unrevealed.
The watcher at the library window saw another carriage drive round. This time it was a double dog-cart, and two or three leather portmanteaus were being disposed on it at a side door.