“You are very anxious to get Paul out of the way,” said Sir William. “What does ‘scarcely anybody’ mean? Is it true that a man called Spears, a trades-unionist, a paid agitator----?” “He is nothing of the sort,” said Paul, with a sudden burst of passion. “If he is an agitator, it is for the right against the wrong, not for payment; anybody who knows him will tell you so.” “I have heard it from people who know him,” said Sir William. “Is it possible that you took advantage of my absence, Paul, to bring such a man here--to lodge such a person in my house?” “Such a person!” Paul, who had felt it coming ever since his father’s arrival, stood to his arms at once. “He is the best man I know,” he said, indignantly. “There is no house in the country that might not be proud to receive him; and as for taking advantage of your absence, sir----” “Indeed,” said Lady Markham, holding up her head, though she had grown pale, “you must not say so, William; he did not know you were away; and as for Mr. Spears, I was just about to tell you. He is not a man to be afraid of. It is true he is not--in society, perhaps--he has not quite the air of a person in society--has he, Alice?” This was said with scarcely a tremble. “But his manners were perfectly good, and his appearance, though it was quite simple--I think you must be making some mistake. I saw no harm in him.” Will it be believed that Paul, instead of showing gratitude, was indignant at this mild approval? “Saw no harm in him,” he cried; “his manners, his appearance. Are you mad, mother? He is a man who is worthy to be a king, if merit made kings; or if any man worth the name would accept an office which has been soiled by such ignoble use!” “Hold your tongue, sir,” said Sir William. “It is you who are mad. A stump-orator, a fellow who does much mischief in England! My house is not to be made a shelter for such _canaille_. Your mother should have turned him to the door; and so she would have done, I don’t doubt--her instincts are too fine not to have seen the kind of creature he was--but for her foolish devotion to you.” “Paul, Paul! Oh, don’t speak--don’t say anything,” cried Alice in an agony, in her brother’s ear. “Let him say what he pleases,” said Sir William. “This must be put a stop to. When the house is his, he can dishonour it if he likes, but in the meantime the house is mine.” “Certainly the house is yours, sir,” cried his son; “I make no claim on it. I feel no right to it. Let me alone, Alice! Do I want the house, or the land, or the money which we steal from the poor to make ourselves splendid, while our fellow-creatures are starving? I am ready to give it up at a moment’s notice. It wounds my conscience, it restrains my action. I want nothing with your house, sir. If I may not bring one honest man into it, you may hand it over to any one you please; it is no home for me.”