“To the shop,” he muttered. His accents were of the most dreadful melancholy.
Everybody was profoundly alarmed by his mere tone and look. This was not the old Darius. Edwin felt intensely the futility and the hollowness of all those reassurances which he had just been offering.
“You haven’t had your breakfast, father,” said Maggie quietly.
“Please, father! Please don’t go like that. You aren’t fit,” Clara entreated, and rushed towards him, the baby in her arms, and with one hand took his sleeve. Mrs Hamps followed, adding persuasions. Albert said bluffly, “Now, dad! Now, dad!”
Edwin and Maggie were silent in the background.
Darius gazed at Clara’s face, and then his glance fell, and fixed itself on her breast and on the head of the powerfully sucking infant, and then it rose to the plumes of Mrs Hamps. His expression of tragic sorrow did not alter in the slightest degree under the rain of sugared remonstrances and cajoleries that the two women directed upon him. And then, without any warning, he burst into terrible tears, and, staggering, leaned against the wall. He was half carried to the sofa, and sat there, ineffably humiliated. One after another looked reproachfully at Edwin, who had made light of his father’s condition. And Edwin was abashed and frightened.
“You or I had better fetch th’ doctor,” Albert muttered.