here he put his hand up to his battered face, "that I am suffering a
good deal, but what I want to say is, that I beg you will not blame
Philip. He thought that I had wronged him, and, though I am quite
innocent, and could easily have cleared myself had he given me a
chance, I must admit that appearances are to a certain extent against
me----"

"He lies!" broke in Philip, sullenly.

"You will wonder, sir," went on the blood-stained George, "how I
allowed myself to be drawn into such a brutal affair, and one so
discreditable to your house. I can only say that I am very sorry,"--
which indeed he was--"and that I should never have taken any notice of
his words--knowing that he would regret them on reflection--had he not
in an unguarded moment allowed himself to taunt me with my birth.
Uncle, you know the misfortune of my father's marriage, and that she
was not his equal in birth, but you know too that she was my mother
and I love her memory though I never saw her, and I could not bear to
hear her spoken of like that, and I struck him. I hope that both you
and he will forgive me; I cannot say any more."

"He lies again, he cannot speak the truth."

"Philip, will you allow me to point out," remarked his father in his
blandest voice, "that the continued repetition of the very ugly word
'lie' is neither narrative nor argument. Perhaps you will be so kind
as to tell me your side of the story; you know I always wish to be
perfectly impartial."

"He lied to you this morning about the money. It's true enough that I