“It is not a question I can discuss, sir,” cried Jack. “I beg your pardon. I know you don’t mean to be hard upon me, but as for calling in question—her—innocence, I can’t have it. She is as innocent as the angels; she doesn’t understand what evil means.”
“I am glad you think so,” said Mr. Brownlow; “but let me have out my say. I don’t believe in seduction in the ordinary sense of the word—”
“Sir!” cried Jack, starting to his feet with a countenance flaming like that of an angry angel. Mr. Brownlow only waved his hand and went on.
“Let me have out my say. I tell you I don’t believe in seduction; but there are people in the world—and the most part of the people in the world—who are neither good nor bad, and to such a sudden impulse one way or other may be every thing. I would not call down upon a young man’s foolish head all the responsibility of such a woman’s misery,” said Mr. Brownlow, thoughtfully, “but still it would be an awful thought that somebody else might have turned the unsteady balance the right way, and that your folly had turned it the wrong. See, I am not going into it as a question of personal vice. That your own heart would tell you of; but I don’t believe, my boy—I don’t believe you mean any harm. I say this to you once for all. You could not, if you were a hundred times the man you are, turn one true, good, pure-hearted girl wrong. I don’t believe any man could; but you might develop evil that but for you would only have smouldered and never come to positive harm. Who can tell whether this poor child is of the one character or the other? Don’t interrupt me. You think you know, but you can’t know. Mind what you are about. This is all I am going to say to you, Jack.”
“It is too much,” cried Jack, bursting with impatience, “or it is not half, not a hundredth part enough. I, sir—do you think I would harm her? Not for any thing that could be offered me—not for all the world!”
“I have just said as much,” said Mr. Brownlow, calmly. “If I had thought you capable of a base intention, I should have spoken very differently; but intention is one thing and result another. Take care. You can’t but harm her. To a girl in her position every word, every look of that kind from a young man like you is a kind of injury. You must know that. Think if it had been Keppel—ah, you start—and how is it different, being you?”
“It may not be different, sir,” exclaimed Jack, “but this I know, I can’t carry on this conversation. Keppel! any man in short—that is what you mean. Good heavens, how little you know the creature you are talking of! She talk to Keppel or to any one! If it was not you who said it—”
Mr. Brownlow’s grave face relaxed for one half moment. It did not come the length of a smile, but it had unawares the same effect upon his son which a momentary lightening of the clouds has, even though no break is visible. The atmosphere, as it were, grew lighter. The young man stopped almost without knowing it, and his indignation subsided. His father understood better than he thought.
“If all you say is true,” said Mr. Brownlow, “and I am glad to see that you believe it at least, how can you reconcile yourself to doing such a girl such an injury? You and she belong to different spheres. You can do her nothing but harm, she can do you no good. What result can you look for? What do you mean? You must see the truth of what I say.”
Upon which Jack fell silent, chilled in the midst of his heat, struck dumb. For he knew very well that he had not meant any thing; he had no result to propose. He had not gone so far as to contemplate actual practical consequences, and he was ashamed and had nothing to say.