Armed with this information, he sought out his father on the Monday morning, found him at his club, told him of all he knew, and asked his advice.
‘My only wish, you know,’ he explained, ‘is to save Alma from that man, who is evidently a scoundrel. So I thought I would come to you at once. The question is, what is to be done?’
‘It’s a horrible complication,’ said the baronet, honestly shocked. ‘Do you actually mean to tell me that you suspect an improper relationship between Alma and this infernal infidel?’
‘I shouldn’t like to go as far as that; but they were seen travelling together, like man and wife, in France.’
‘Good heavens! It is incredible.’
‘I should like to shoot the fellow,’ cried George furiously. ‘And I would, too, if this was a duelling country. Shooting’s too good for him. He ought to be hung!’
The upshot of the conversation was that father and son determined to visit Alma at once together, and to make one last attempt to bring her to reason. At a little after midday they were at her door. The baronet stalked in past the servant, with an expression of the loftiest moral indignation.
‘Tell Miss Craik that I wish to see her at once,’ he said.
It was some minutes before Alma appeared. When she did so, attired in a pink morning peignoir of the most becoming fashion, her face was bright as sunshine; but it became clouded directly she met her uncle’s eyes. She saw at a glance that he had come on an unpleasant errand.
George Craik sulked in a corner, waiting for his father to conduct the attack.