“Dick,” he said, suddenly, for there had been utter silence for a space.
“Yes, father.”
“You have upset me very much, and made me very unhappy; but I wish you to say nothing to your mother, and we will talk about this again. Promise me one thing,—that you will go back to Oxford at least until Christmas.”
“What is the good of that, sir?” asked his son, dubiously.
“What is the good of anything? for you have taken every bit of pleasure out of my life; but at least you can do as much as this for me.”
“Oh, yes, father, if you wish it,” returned Dick, more cheerfully; “but all the same I have fixed upon a City life.”
“We will talk of that again,” replied his father; “and, Dick, we go home to-morrow, and, unless you promise me not to come down to Hadleigh between this and Christmas, I shall be obliged to speak to Mrs. Challoner.”
“Oh, there is no need for that,” returned Dick, sulkily.
“You give me your word?”
“Oh, yes,” pushing aside his chair with a kick. “It would be no use coming down to Hadleigh, for Nan would not speak to me. I know her too well for that. She has got such a conscience, you know. I shall write to her, but I do not know if she will answer my letters; but it does not matter: we shall both be true as steel. If you don’t want me any more, I think I will have a cigar on the beach, for this room is confoundedly hot.” And, without waiting for permission, Dick strode off, still sulky and fully aware that his father meant to follow him, for fear of his footsteps straying again down the Braidwood Road.