"What do you think about that, Mr. Henry?"
"Of course I have feared so. But yet—"
"But yet what?"
"Oh, sir, I'd rather not go on. I was going to speak of leniency—of consideration; but you might think it only made my offence worse."
"I will show you all the leniency in my power. I think my having delayed the explanation proves that my intentions are not hostile, and I will be your friend if I can. You were, I conclude, led into this by some overwhelming pecuniary pressure, as others have been before you, and then found that you could not redeem your act. This is Emma's view of the case as well as mine. Why did you not make a friend of me, and tell me your difficulty? I would have lent you the money."
"What money, sir?"
"The money you had need of. It was a poor sum to peril one's future for—seven pounds. And why did you use Mr. Jebb's name?"
Mr. Henry had been staring with all his eyes, as if the words bewildered him. "I don't quite understand, sir, what it is you are talking of."
"Of my pencil, that you took from this room and pledged in Oxford Street for seven pounds," returned the Head Master in terse language, nettled at the assumption of ignorance and innocence. "Why do you force me to speak out so plainly?"
Mr. Henry rose up; his whole attitude, his face, one entire questioning astonishment. "Why, Dr. Brabazon, what is it that you would accuse me of?" he exclaimed.