He spoke quite cheerfully, for he saw his father was cruelly hurt.
“It was all a mistake, Dannie—my coming to you, I mean,” Roger Oakley said, shutting the book reverently and laying it to one side. “The world's a small place, after all, and we should have known we couldn't keep our secret. It's right I should bear my own cross, but it's not your sin, and now it presses hardest on you. I'm sorry, Dannie—” and his voice shook with the emotion he was striving to hide.
“No, no, father. To have you here has been a great happiness to me.”
“Has it, Dannie? has it really?” with a quick smile. “I am glad you can say so, for it's been a great happiness to me—greater than I deserved,” and he laid a big hand caressingly on his son's.
“We must go ahead, daddy, as if nothing had happened. If we let this hurt us, we'll end by losing all our courage.”
“It's been a knock-out blow for me, Dannie,” with a wistful sadness, “and I've got to go away. It's best for you I should. I've gone in one direction and you've gone another. You can't reconcile opposites. I've been thinking of this a good deal. You're young, and got your life ahead of you, and you'll do big things before you're done, and people will forget I can't drag you down just because I happen to be your father and love you. Why, I'm of a different class even, but I can't go on. I'm just as I am, and I can't change myself.”
“Why, bless your heart, daddy,” cried Dan, “I wouldn't have you changed. You're talking nonsense. I won't let you go away.”
“But the girl, Dannie, the girl—the doctor's daughter! You see I hear a lot of gossip in the shop, and even if you haven't told me, I know.”
“We may as well count that at an end,” said Dan, quietly.
“Do you think of leaving here?”