A perfect flood of fury and resentment swept through Jack’s mind; but he was not going to be angry and lose his advantage. He was white with suppressed passion, but his voice did not swell with anger, as his father’s had done. It was thus his self-possession that carried the day.
“When you have done, sir,” he said, taking off his hat with a quietness which cost him an immense effort, “perhaps you will hear what I have got to say.”
Mr. Brownlow for the moment had lost his temper, which was very foolish. Probably it was because other things too were going wrong, and his sense of justice did not permit him to avenge their contrariety upon the purely innocent. Now Jack was not purely innocent, and here was an outlet. And then he had been walking about in the avenue for more than an hour waiting, and was naturally sick of it. And, finally, having lost his own temper, he was furious with Jack for not losing his.
“Speak out, sir,” he cried; “I have done. Not that your speaking can make much difference. I repeat, if you hurt a hair of that child’s head--”
“I will thank you to speak of her in a different way,” said Jack, losing patience also. “You may think me a villain if you please; but how dare you venture to suppose that I _could_ bring her to harm? Is _she_ nobody? is that all you think of her? By Jove! the young lady you are speaking of, without knowing her,” said Jack, suddenly stopping himself, staring at his father with calm fury, and speaking with deadly emphasis, “is going to be--my wife.”
Mr. Brownlow was so utterly confounded that he stood still and stared in his turn at his audacious son. He gave a start as if some one had shot him; and then he stood speechless and stared, wondering blankly if some transformation had occurred, or if this was actually Jack that stood before him. It ought to have been a relief to his mind--no doubt if he had been as good a man as he ought to have been, he would have gone down on his knees and given thanks that his son’s intentions were so virtuous; but in the mean time amaze swallowed up every other sentiment. “Your wife!” he said, with the utmost wonder which the human voice is capable of expressing in his voice. The wildest effort of imagination could never have brought him to such an idea--Jack’s wife! His consternation was such that it took the strength out of him. He could not have said a word more had it been to save his life. If any one had pushed rudely against him he might have dropped on the ground in the weakness of his amaze. “You might have knocked him down with a feather,” was the description old Betty would have given; and she would have been right.