“And how do you know that I have not put it all before her?” exclaimed Arthur, fiercely still.
“Because you could not do so without breaking your word,” said Mr Cheviott, “and because, too, no girl who understood your position would encourage your suit. If she were a high-principled, unselfish girl, she would not allow you to ruin yourself for her sake, and if she were a calculating, selfish girl, she would have no wish to share your ruin.”
“Yes,” said Arthur, bitterly, “you put it very neatly. I am regularly caught in a net, I know. Whichever way I turn, it is equally ruinous.”
“Then what on earth did you run your head into the net for?” said Mr Cheviott, impatiently. “You had your eyes open, you knew what you were about.”
“I did not,” said Arthur, “I never, till now, realised how unnatural and unbearable my position was. But you misunderstand me—I mean that my father’s absurd will entangles me hopelessly—I was not alluding to my—my acquaintance with Miss Western—that is to be blamed for nothing but causing me to realise the truth.”
“Well, then, I wish you had not realised the truth,” said Mr Cheviott. “I think, Arthur, you forget strangely that in all this you are not the only sufferer. Do you think my position is a pleasant one?”
“No,” said Captain Beverley, “I don’t, but I think you exaggerate matters. In any case, there is no question of my ruining myself, or any one else.”
“How do you make that out? For by ‘any case’ I suppose you mean in the case of your proposing to Miss Western and her accepting you (you may have done so already, for all I know), and your marriage following. I don’t think ruin is much too strong a word to use for what this would bring upon you.”
“You forget Hathercourt,” said Captain Beverley, with some hesitation.
“Hathercourt,” repeated Mr Cheviott, looking puzzled, “I don’t know what you mean.”