your situation as tutor in his house and a respectable income."
"I have done more. I have persuaded Miss Inglett to run away with me."
"You have—what?"
Mr. Welsh dropped his hands and the paper; he stood for a moment in blank amazement. Then the blood rushed into his brow, and his hands clenched.
"You have—you dare not repeat those words."
"It is true. I supposed she was my sister."
"You dirty little blackguard!" cried Welsh, losing all control over himself and his tongue; he sprang towards his nephew, brandishing the newspaper. "I will horsewhip you with the only weapon I have, the Daily News! You coxcomb! You infamous snob! I'm ashamed to acknowledge you as my sister's child."
"I know that I have made a terrible mistake."
"Mistake is not the word for it. A more detestable, outrageous, caddish act, I could not conceive. Good gracious! I would like to kick you round my table, kick you down the hall, kick you out at my door, down the steps, send you flying along the avenue from tree to tree, and a kick at each. Do you not see, you scoundrel, what you have done? cast an indelible slur upon the girl's character. Mistake—mistake, indeed! Of all snobbery! Mistake! Get out of my house this instant. You pollute the atmosphere, you. You a son of my lord! You, who have not a drop of honourable blood in your veins, not a spark of proper feeling in your heart, not the smallest grain of gentlemanly, let alone noble sentiment in your whole nature—you contemptible bastard of Sam Ceely."
