“Yes,” said Thomas Godolphin. “You might fare worse, in that respect, than you do under Mr. Hurde. What was the meaning of the words you spoke relative to Mr. George Godolphin?”
Layton felt that his face was on fire. He muttered, in his confusion, something to the effect that it was a “slip of the tongue.”
“But you must be aware that such slips are quite unjustifiable. Something must have induced you to say it. What may it have been?”
“The truth is, I was in a passion when I said it,” replied Layton, compelled to speak. “I am very sorry.”
“You are evading my question,” quietly replied Thomas Godolphin. “I ask you what could have induced you to say it? There must have been something to lead to the remark.”
“I did not mean anything, I declare, sir, Mr. Hurde vexed me by casting suspicion upon me; and in the moment’s anger, I retorted that he might as well cast it upon Mr. George Godolphin.”
Thomas Godolphin pressed the question. In Layton’s voice when he had uttered it, distorted though it was with passion, his ears had detected a strange meaning. “But why upon Mr. George Godolphin? Why more upon him than any other?—upon myself, for instance; or Mr. Hurde?”
Layton was silent. Thomas Godolphin waited, his serene countenance fixed upon, the clerk’s.
“I suppose I must have had in my head a remark I heard yesterday, sir,” he slowly rejoined. “Heaven knows, though, I gave no heed to it; and how I came to forget myself in my anger, I don’t know. I am sure I thought nothing of it, afterwards, until Mr. Hurde spoke to me this morning.”
“What was the remark?” asked Mr. Godolphin.