"I know your face very well," said Richard, "but I can't call you by name."
"My name is Edward Farringford," replied my father.
"And he is my father," I added.
"I am glad to see you looking so well, Edward," said the old gentleman, coldly. "I hear you are doing well; but don't say a word to me about that silly story."
"I don't intend to do so. I wish to say, sir, that while I plead guilty to all you have charged upon me in the past, I have no occasion to ask any favors for the future, except your kind regard. I wish to see my wife—"
"Never, sir! Never!" protested Mr. Collingsby, senior, as he rushed into his counting-room.
"I wish you well, Ned," added Mr. Richard; "but I am sorry to find you attempting to impose upon our family."
My father bowed, but made no reply, and the son followed the father into the sanctum.
"I can't stay here, father," I protested, cut to the quick by the conduct of my employers.
"Be patient, Philip. When I think what I was, I can hardly blame them. Keep your place. You will be nearer to your mother here, when she returns, than in any other place."