Mr. Taynton had sprung up and was walking up and down the room in great agitation.

“I can’t believe that,” he said.  “There must be some other explanation.  Godfrey Mills say those things about you!  It is incredible.  My dear boy, until it is proved, you really must not let yourself believe that to be possible.  You can’t believe such wickedness against a man, one, too, whom I have known and trusted for years, on no evidence.  There is no direct evidence yet.  Let us leave that alone for the moment.  What are you going to do now?”

“I came here to see him,” said Morris.  “But I am told he is away.  So I thought it better to tell you.”

“Yes, quite right.  And what else?”

“I have written to Sir Richard, demanding, in common justice, that he should see me, should tell me what he has heard against me, and who told him.  I don’t think he will refuse.  I don’t see how he can refuse.  I have asked him to see me to-morrow afternoon.”

Mr. Taynton mentally examined this in all its bearings.  Apparently it satisfied him.

“You have acted wisely and providently,” he said.  “But I want to beg you, until you have definite information, to forbear from thinking that my dear Mills could conceivably have been the originator of these scandalous tales, tales which I know from my knowledge of you are impossible to be true.  From what I know of him, however, it is impossible he could have said such things.  I cannot believe him capable of a mean or deceitful action, and that he should be guilty of such unfathomable iniquity is simply out of the question.  You must assume him innocent till his guilt is proved.”

“But who else could it have been?” cried Morris, his voice rising again.

“It could not have been he,” said Taynton firmly.

There was a long silence; then Morris rose.

“There is one thing more,” he said, “which is the most important of all.  This foul scandal about me, of course, I know will be cleared up, and I shall be competent to deal with the offender.  But—­but Madge and I said other things to each other.  I told her what I told you, that I loved her.  And she loves me.”

The sternness, the trouble, the anxiety all melted from Mr. Taynton’s face.

“Ah, my dear fellow, my dear fellow,” he said with outstretched hands.  “Thank you for telling me.  I am delighted, overjoyed, and indeed, as you say, that is far more important than anything else.  My dear Morris, and is not your mother charmed?”

Morris shook his head.

“I have not told her yet, and I shall not till this is cleared up.  It is her birthday the day after to-morrow; perhaps I shall be able to tell her then.”

He rose.

“I must go,” he said.  “And I will do all I can to keep my mind off accusing him, until I know.  But when I think of it, I see red.”

Mr. Taynton patted his shoulder affectionately.