“I’ve got business with Sophia, and I must get it done. I’ve got for to render an account of my stewardship to Sophia, under her father’s will, and her mother’s will, and her aunt’s will, and it’s nobody’s business but mine and Sophia’s, I reckon. Now then,” he glanced at his wife, “off with ye!”
Maria rose, half-kittenish and half-ashamed.
“Surely you don’t want to go into all that to-night,” said Sophia. She spoke softly, for she had already fully perceived that Mr. Critchlow must be managed with the tact which the capricious obstinacies of advanced age demanded. “Surely you can wait a day or two. I’m in no hurry.”
“HAVEN’T I WAITED LONG ENOUGH?” he retorted fiercely.
There was a pause. Maria Critchlow moved.
“As for you being in no hurry, Sophia,” the old man went on, “nobody can say as you’ve been in a hurry.”
Sophia had suffered a check. She glanced hesitatingly at Constance.
“Mrs. Critchlow and I will go down into the parlour,” said Constance, quickly. “There is a bit of fire there.”
“Oh no. I won’t hear of such a thing!”
“Yes, we will, won’t we, Mrs. Critchlow?” Constance insisted, cheerfully but firmly. She was determined that in her house Sophia should have all the freedom and conveniences that she could have had in her own. If a private room was needed for discussions between Sophia and her trustee, Constance’s pride was piqued to supply that room. Further, Constance was glad to get Maria out of Sophia’s sight. She was accustomed to Maria; with her it did not matter; but she did not care that the teeth of Sophia should be set on edge by the ridiculous demeanour of Maria. So those two left the drawing-room, and the old man began to open the papers which he had been preparing for weeks.