"I did it in a moment of passion," said Pen, floundering; "I was not aware what I was going to say or to do" (and in this he spoke with perfect sincerity). "But now it is said, and I stand to it. No; I neither can nor will recall it. I'll die rather than do so. And I—I don't want to burthen my mother," he continued. "I'll work for myself. I'll go on the stage and act with her. She—she says I should do well there."
"But will she take you on those terms?" the major interposed. "Mind, I do not say that Miss Costigan is not the most disinterested of women: but, don't you suppose, now, fairly, that your position as a young gentleman of ancient birth and decent expectations, forms a part of the cause why she finds your addresses welcome?"
"I'll die, I say, rather than forfeit my pledge to her," said Pen, doubling his fists and turning red.
"Who asks you, my dear friend?" answered the imperturbable guardian. "No gentleman breaks his word, of course, when it has been given freely. But after all, you can wait. You owe something to your mother, something to your family—something to me as your father's representative."
"Oh, of course," Pen said, feeling rather relieved.
"Well, as you have pledged your word to her, give us another, will you, Arthur?"
"What is it?" Arthur asked.
"That you will make no private marriage—that you won't be taking a trip to Scotland, you understand."
"That would be a falsehood. Pen never told his mother a falsehood," Helen said.