“You mean to beggar yourself!” exclaimed her companion in amaze and consternation.
“If you call it so. I must leave my mother her yearly income which is given her under the will; but I can do as I please with all the rest, and I shall restore it as far as possible to those from whom he gained it. Of course few of his victims will be traceable; but some may be, so at all events the money shall go back to the poor from whom it was drained.”
Framlingham stared at her in silent stupefaction.
“You cannot be serious,” he said at last.
“I am sorry you look at it in that way. I thought I should have had your sympathy.”
“My sympathy!”
“Certainly. You are a man of honor.”
Framlingham was silent.
“Cannot you pity my dishonor?” she said in the same hushed, grave tones.
“My dear girl,” said her friend, “I pity acutely what you feel, and I can imagine nothing more painful to a sensitive nature than such a discovery as you have made. But you may have exaggerated your censure and your conclusions. The age we live in is lenient to such deeds when they are successful. Your father was a rude man dwelling in rough society. You must not judge him by the standard of your own high ethics. As for what you propose to do, it is simply madness.”