“I am not in the habit of saying what I do not mean. Only please understand that if you reject my plans for your career, which have been formed after much thought, and, I may add, prayer, I wash my hands of you who are now too old to be argued with in any other way.” Godfrey looked at his father and considered the iron mouth cut straight like a slit across the face, the hard, insignificant countenance and the small, cold, grey eyes. He realised the intensity of the petty anger based, for the most part, on jealousy because he was now independent and could not be ordered about and bullied like the rest of the little boys, and knew that behind it there was not affection, but dislike. Summing up all this in his quick mind, he became aware that father or not, he regarded this man with great aversion. Their natures, their outlook, all about them were antagonistic, and, in fact, had been so from the beginning. The less that they saw of each other the better it would be for both. Although still so young, he had ripened early, and was now almost a man who knew that these things were so without possibility of doubt. “Very well, Father,” he said, “I will go. It is better than stopping here to quarrel.” “I thought you would, now that your friend, Isobel, who did you so much harm with her bad influence, has departed to Mexico, where, I have no doubt, she has forgotten all about you. You won’t be able to run after her money as you did after Miss Ogilvy’s,” replied Mr. Knight with another sneer. “You insult me,” said Godfrey. “It is a lie that I ran after Miss Ogilvy’s money, and I will never forgive you for saying such a thing of me in connection with Isobel,” and turning he left the room. So did his father, for Godfrey heard him go to his study and lock the door, doubtless as a sign and a token. Then Godfrey sought out Mrs. Parsons and told her everything. The old woman was much disturbed, and wept. “I have been thinking of late, Master Godfrey,” she said, “that your father’s heart is made of that kind of stone which Hell is paved with, only with the good intentions left out—it’s that hard. Here you are come back as fine a young man as a body can wish to see, of whom his begetter might well be proud, though, for the matter of that, there is precious little of him in you—and he shuts the door in your face just because you won’t be a parson and have come into fortune—that’s what rankles. I say that your mother, if she was a fool when she married him, was a wise woman when she died. Parson or not, he will never go where she is. Well, it’s sad, but you’ll be well out of this cold house, where there’s so much praying but not a spark of love.” “I think so,” said Godfrey with a sigh.