Alick walked up and down the room. He felt he was wrong--at least for the moment--but he was too much of a moral coward to acknowledge that he wanted to throw the blame of his own faults and follies on Hawermann's shoulders, so taking refuge in the mode of action commonly employed by weak souls when in a difficulty such as the present, he determined to carry the war into the enemy's country. He once more shut his heart to the pure unvarnished truth, selling it, as it were, for a piece of silver.
"Of course," he said, "Hawermann is much more to you than he is to me."--"What do you mean?" asked Frank looking at him quickly.--"Nothing," said Alick. "I only meant that you will soon call him, 'father.'" The worst of this speech was the intention he showed in it to wound the man who had cared for him enough to tell him the truth. He had used the gossip he had heard from Pomuchelskopp because it was the only weapon he knew of that would answer the purpose.--Frank reddened. The secret he had deemed so holy was dragged into the common light of day at such a time and in such a way as to make the intended insult the more apparent. The blood rushed to his face, he struggled to command himself, and said: "That has nothing to do with what we are speaking about."--"How do you make that out?" asked Alick. "To my mind it fully explains the warmth with which you defend Mr. Hawermann."--"He needs no defence. His whole life is his best defence."--"To say nothing of his beautiful daughter," said Alick striding up and down the room, and congratulating himself upon the success of his last remark.--Frank was very angry, but he forced himself to say quietly: "Do you know her?"--"Yes; no; that is, I've seen her. I met her at the parsonage, and she often comes to see my wife. She's a very pretty girl upon my honour. I first noticed her when she was quite a child at my father's funeral."--"Did you not try to become better acquainted with her when you found that I loved her?"--"No, Frank, no. Because I knew that nothing could come of such a love affair."--"Then you knew more than I did."--"I know even more than that. I know how you have been hunted and caught, and how they tried to make sure of you."--"Who told you that? But why do I ask? Such scandalous gossip can only proceed from one house in this neighbourhood--now that we are talking on this subject I will tell you frankly that I intend to marry the girl if she will have me."--"She won't say no! She'll take good care not to say no!" cried Alick angrily. "And so you are really going to be such a fool? You seriously intend to bring this disgrace on our family?"--"Take care what you say, Alick!" said Frank passionately. "I don't see, however, how the matter affects you."--"What? _I_ am the head of our old family, and do you think that it is nothing to me when a younger member of our race disgraces himself by a mésalliance?"--Again Frank commanded himself, and said: "You yourself married for love, and nothing else."--"That was different," said Alick, who thought he was now getting the best of the argument. "My wife is my equal in birth; she is the daughter of an old and noble house, while the girl you love is only the daughter of my bailiff, and was brought up by the clergyman and his wife out of charity."--"For shame!" cried Frank. "How dare you treat misfortune as if it were a crime."--"I don't care," stormed Alick. "I tell you once for all that I'll never call my bailiff's daughter, cousin; the wench shall never cross this threshold."--Frank turned deadly pale, and said with a voice that trembled from suppressed emotion: "That is enough. You need say no more, we must part. Louisa shall never cross your threshold, nor I either." With that he went away. Frida met him at the door, she had heard the loud voices in the next room and had come to see what was the matter: "Frank, Frank, what is it?" she asked.--"Good-bye, Frida," he said quickly and went out across the yard towards the bailiff's house.