"
He did see that, poor man. "No, chick, no. That wouldn't work out--that
sum. You and your mother never did add up very well--No, no. Much as I
should have liked it. But Charles Street? Hum. I'm a plain man, you see, a
plain, old comfortable merchant--and the older I grow, the more
comfortable I get, I believe. Now, I don't see myself in Berkeley Square,
making a bow to Lady Maria. My poor old back's too stiff for that. But if
you're contented--if you're to have your deserts--for you're a little
beauty, my love, and there's no mistake about it--why, what can I say? And
I know you won't forget Papa in The Poultry--hey?"
She held him her hand across the tea-cups, smiling with her eyes. "Do you
really think I shall?"
He caught fast to the little hand. "No, child, no! Though, mind you, I
deserve it. When I think that I let you be packed out of my house--neck
and crop--to the devil, for aught I knew--I grow cold. My dear, it's taken
me suddenly at night--when I've been wakeful--and I've groaned in my
agony. It don't do to think of--hideous! Women make fools of us men, and
knaves as well. But there! You know your mother's way. I mustn't speak
against her, of course. No, no.
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