"If friendship," he said, "can exist between mistress and servant, then am I your friend. But if not, then your servant at your command."
"This place," John Haveril laid his hand upon Dick's shoulder, "is your home, and what we have is at your service."
"Dick," said Molly, "we are now a kind of cousins, and you are a sort of stepson of the house."
"So long, Molly, as you don't call me brother."
"John"—after the young people had gone—"did you tell him about his father?"
"No, I didn't." John sat down, and gave his reasons very slowly. "Why? This way, I thought. He's the young man's father; that's true. But he ran away from his wife and his child—twice, he did. That won't make the son respect the father much, will it? Next, Alice, I've been to see the sick man."
"You've been to see him, John? You are a good man, John. You deserve a less troublesome wife. When that creature in rags wanted to sell his secret, I pretended I didn't care. But I did. It made me sick and sorry to think of that poor, bad man, without a friend or a helper in his time of need. You are not jealous, are you, John? I did love the man once. He is a worthless, wicked man. You are not jealous, are you, John? I have no such feeling left for him. It is all pity—pity for a man who is punished for his sins."
"Not I, lass—not I. Pity him as much as you please."
"Tell me what he looks like."