“You are aware, then, of course, that I deserted your sister, as it is called, for a time; the fact being, that we discovered after marriage that our tastes and habits of thought were very dissimilar, and that we should be happier apart, at least for a season. And in the meantime you stepped in, and have acted very nobly, I must say, in taking charge of my two little children, for which I must tender you my best thanks.”
There was a brief pause, and then Amos inquired anxiously, “Is it your intention to take the children from me?”
“Well, not necessarily, but perhaps so; certainly not the girl, at present, unless you yourself wish it.”
“And the boy?” asked Amos.
“Ah, I have not quite made up my mind about him,” was the reply. “It may be that I shall keep him with me, and bring him up to my own profession.”
“And what may that profession be?” asked the other.
“The stage,” was the reply.
“What!” exclaimed Amos in a tone of horror, “bring up the poor child to be an actor! Why, it will be his ruin, body and soul!”
“And if so, Mr Huntingdon,” said the other sternly and bitterly, and with his dark eyes glaring fiercely, “I suppose I, as his father, have a right to bring him up as I please. The father’s profession is, I imagine, notwithstanding your disparaging remarks, good enough for the son.”
Amos leaned his head on his hand for a while without reply; then he looked his companion steadily in the face, and said, “And is there no other course open?”