For twenty years--in company with a scoundrel whose name is a byword for all that is profligate and base--you have laughed at me for a credulous and hood-winked fool; and now, because I dared to raise my hand to that reckless boy, you confess your shame, and glory in the confession!" "Mother, dear mother!" cried the young man, in a paroxysm of grief, "say that you did not mean those words; you said them but in anger! See, I am calm now, and he may strike me if he will." Lady Devine shuddered, creeping close, as though to hide herself in the broad bosom of her son.
The old man continued: "I married you, Ellinor Wade, for your beauty; you married me for my fortune.

I was a plebeian, a ship's carpenter; you were well born, your father was a man of fashion, a gambler, the friend of rakes and prodigals.

I was rich.

I had been knighted.

I was in favour at Court.