“He asked me only that the cheque might be destroyed. I thought you would think Archie’s exculpation cheaply purchased at that cost.”
“Of course, of course,” he said with a wave of his hand.
“And gave me this, which he said would to you be proof enough.”
Mr. Rowland took the scrap of paper, with his own name written upon it, in different degrees of perfection. He looked at it intently for a minute, then threw it into the smouldering fire, where it made a momentary blaze and flickered away.
“If the thing could be destroyed like that!” he said. Then after a pause, “The question is, what is to be done with that unhappy boy.”
“James! I promised him exemption, safety. He was never to hear of it again.”
“Tut, tut!” he said. “It’s you now, Evelyn, that shows a want of understanding. Do you think anything in the world would make me bring to disgrace and ruin that boy! The creature’s not of age,” he cried. “What are we to do with him, to make it still possible that he should live his life?”
“James,” cried Evelyn, after a pause, “I must tell you. There are such curious differences. I don’t think that Eddy is—very unhappy. He has his moments of seriousness, but generally he takes it lightly enough.”
“I don’t see that that makes it any better. Are we to leave him among his debts and his follies, to be tempted to do such a thing again? He should be separated from that horrible,—what do you call it—society life of his, and set to work.”