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A man can't keep his temper under continual provocation. Suppose I refuse to help you?" Mrs. Farnaby looked at him with the most exasperating composure. "I defy you to do it," she answered. "You defy me to do it!" Amelius exclaimed. "Do you take me for a fool?" Mrs. Farnaby went on. "Do you think I don't know you better than you know yourself?"
Her attention was completely absorbed by Mrs. Sowler's replies. Speculating on the possible result, Jervy abandoned the question of the debt, and devoted his next inquiries to the subject of the child. "I promise you every farthing of your money, Mother Sowler," he said, "with interest added to it. How old was the child when Farnaby gave it to you?" "Old? Not a week old, I should say!"
Amelius, with perfect good temper, offered him a free admission, and asked him to hear the lecture and decide for himself whether there was any harm in it. Mr. Farnaby turned his head away from the ticket as if it was something indecent. "Sad! sad!" That was his only farewell to the gentleman-Socialist. On the Monday, he paid his weekly visit to Regina.
Who is it, then? Mamma Farnaby herself. He has actually so interested her that she has been thinking of him, and dreaming of him, in his absence! I heard her last night, poor thing, talking and grinding her teeth in her sleep; and I went into her room to try if I could quiet her, in the usual way, by putting my cool hand on her forehead, and pressing it gently.
A bright young face peeped over the balusters of the upper staircase, and modestly withdrew itself again in a violent hurry. Everybody but Mr. Farnaby and myself had disappeared in the dining-room. Was she having a peep at the young Socialist? Another interruption to my letter, caused by another change in the weather.
That doesn't make any difference to Me! But for dear uncle Farnaby, I might have gone to the workhouse, I might have been a starving needlewoman, a poor persecuted maid-of-all-work. Am I to forget that, because you have no patience, and only think of yourself? Oh, I wish I had never met with you! I wish I had never been fool enough to be as fond of you as I am!"
He opened his letter in solitude, looked at it, crumpled it up impatiently, and put it into his pocket. Not even Mrs. Farnaby could interest him at that critical moment. His own affairs absorbed him. The one idea in his mind, after what he had heard about Sally, was the idea of making a last effort to hasten the date of his marriage before Mr. Farnaby left England.
Troas, a Tragedy of Seneca's, which the learned Farnaby, and Daniel Heinsius very much commend; the former stiling it a divine tragedy, the other preferring it to one of the same name by Euripides, both in language and contrivance, but especially he says it far exceeds it in the chorus.
He was to start on the first stage of his journey the next morning; and, at his own earnest desire, Regina was to go with him. "I hate strangers and foreigners; and I don't like being alone. If you don't go with me, I shall stay where I am and die." So Mr. Farnaby put it to his adopted daughter, in his rasping voice and with his hard frown.
She got over her momentary astonishment, and, signing to me to sit by her on the sofa, said the necessary words of welcome evidently thinking something else all the time. The strange miserable eyes looked over my shoulder, instead of looking at me. "Mr. Farnaby tells me you have been living in America." The tone in which she spoke was curiously quiet and monotonous.
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