‘Oh, papa,’ cried Susie, with tears, ‘don’t say so; don’t think so! John——’
‘Yes, I know: he wants to get hold of me, to keep me in some family dungeon where I can’t shame him. I know that’s what he wants. No, child, I’m going away. Do I want to disgrace you? I’ll go, and you shall never hear of me more.’
‘Papa,’ cried soft-voiced Susie, ‘come back and let us talk all together like one family. Come back to poor John’s lodgings. We are all one family, after all. We are all friends. Oh, come back, come back, papa!’
‘He has got ladies there—the girl he is going to marry. Never, never! I’m not going to have anything to do with him. I’m glad to have seen you, Susie. God bless you, you’ve got a sweet face. You’re like a sister of mine that died young. If you ever see your mother—I suppose you see your mother sometimes?—you can tell her—— Well, perhaps I gave her reason to hate me and give up my name. You can tell her she’ll never be troubled anymore with me.’
‘Oh, papa!’ Susie drew a long breath and held him firmly by the arm. ‘Here is John. You must speak to John.’
John had come hurriedly up to the other side, having followed from his house, and now put his hand also upon his father’s arm.
‘I can’t let you out of my sight,’ he said, breathlessly. ‘We must understand everything, we must settle everything now.’
‘Oh, listen to him, papa: it’s not his fault; let us consult together; we are all one family. Surely, surely we are all friends,’ Susie cried.
May stood between his children with a sullenness unusual to it coming over his face. He shook off John’s hold pettishly.
‘I told you he clutched like a policeman,’ he said. ‘I don’t mind you, Susie, you’re natural. If I had you with me, I might perhaps—— But it’s no use thinking of that. You can tell your mother that whatever happens she shall never be troubled with me.’