Page:What Will He Do With It? - Routledge - Volume 1.djvu/69

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I have not the heart to scold you further. If it be so, come home to me, and I 'll work and slave for you, and you shall keep up your head and be a gentleman still, as you are, every inch of you. Don't mind what I've said at the beginning, dear: don't you know I'm hasty; and I was hurt. But you could not mean to be sly and underhand: 'twas only your high spirit, and it was my fault; I should not have shown you the letters. I hope you are well, and have quite lost that nasty cough, and that Mr. Vance treats you with proper respect. I think him rather too pushing and familiar, though a pleasant young man on the whole. But, after all, he is only a painter Bless you, my child, and don't have secrets again from your poor mother.

JESSICA HAUGHTON.


The enclosed letter was as follows:—

LIONEL HAUGHTON,—Some men might be displeased at receiving such a
letter as you have addressed to me; I am not. At your years, and
under the same circumstances, I might have written a letter much in
the same spirit. Relieve your mind: as yet you owe me no
obligations; you have only received back a debt due to you. My
father was poor; your grandfather, Robert Haughton, assisted him in
the cost of my education. I have assisted your father's son; we are
quits. Before, however, we decide on having done with each other
for the future, I suggest to you to pay me a short visit. Probably
I shall not like you, nor you me. But we are both gentlemen, and
need not show dislike too coarsely. If you decide on coming, come
at once, or possibly you may not find me here. If you refuse, I
shall have a poor opinion of your sense and temper, and in a week I
shall have forgotten your existence. I ought to add that your
father and I were once warm friends, and that by descent I am the
head not only of my own race, which ends with me, but of the
Haughton family, of which, though your line assumed the name, it was
but a younger branch. Nowadays young men are probably not brought
up to care for these things: I was. Yours,
GUY HAUGHTON DARRELL.
MANOR HOUSE, FAWLEY.

Sophy picked up the fallen letters, placed them on Lionel's lap, and looked into his face wistfully. He smiled, resumed his mother's epistle, and read the concluding passages, which he had before omitted. Their sudden turn from reproof to tenderness melted him. He began to feel that his mother