She receded into the entryway, opening her palm and gesturing as if there were an imaginary red carpet rolled out for visitors. ‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked. You are captain of your soul; don't forget your Henley. I swore I would bring your husband to the gallows,—would plunge you in such want, such distress, that you should have no alternative but the last frightful resource of misery,—and I also swore, that if you had a son he should share the same fate as his father. What's this?" he added, stooping to pick up a piece of paper lying at his feet—it was Jonathan's memorandum. His own heart was too full of melancholy foreboding. She was honest again.
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