Hitherto Robinson had not said a word; but at this moment he thought it right to interfere. "Maryanne!" he said,—and, in pronouncing the well-loved name, he threw into it all the affection of which his voice was capable,—"Maryanne!"
"'Miss Brown' would be a deal properer, and also much more pleasing, if it's all the same to you, sir!"
How often had he whispered "Maryanne" into her ears, and the dear girl had smiled upon him to hear herself so called! But he could not remind her of this at the present moment. "I have your father's sanction," said he—
"My father is nothing to me,—not with reference to what young man I let myself be called 'Maryanne' by. And going on as he is going on, I don't suppose that he'll long be much to me in any way."
"Oh, Maryanne!" sobbed the unhappy parent.
"That's all very well, sir, but it won't keep the kettle a-boiling!"
"As long as I have a bit to eat of, Maryanne, and a cup to drink of, you shall have the half."
"And what am I to do when you won't have neither a bit nor a cup? That's what you're coming to, father. We can all see that. What's the use of all them lawyers?"
"That's Jones's doing," said Robinson.
"No; it isn't Jones's doing. And of course Jones must look after himself. I'm not partial to Jones. Everybody knows that. When Sarah Jane disgraced herself, and went off with him, I never said a word in her favour. It wasn't I who brought a viper into the house and warmed it in my bosom." It was at this moment that Jones was behaving with the most barefaced effrontery, as well as the utmost cruelty, towards the old man, and Maryanne's words cut her father to the very soul. "Jones might have been anywhere for me," she continued; "but there he is downstairs, and Sarah Jane is with him. Of course they are looking for their own."