"There ain't a feature in their faces alike--not one. Nature doesn't tell lies as a rule; but she has told a whopper if that man is this young un's father. Do you mean to tell me that a father would behave to his own flesh and blood as that fellow behaved to this little one to-night? Look here, old woman. I go wrong more often than I go right. I might be a better man to you, I dare say, and a better father to Sal; but things have gone too far for me to alter. But for all that, I think I've got the feelings of a father towards our lass, and I wouldn't part with her for her weight in gold."
Which speech, uttered with rough, genuine feeling, was a recompense to Mrs. Chester for months of neglect and unfair usage.
"Well, Dick," she said, "don't bother any more about it now. We've got two weeks' rent in advance, at any rate."
And this practical commentary Mrs. Chester considered a satisfactory termination to the conversation--at least, for the present.
Mr. Chester was a heavy sleeper. Being an earnest man, he was as earnest in his sleep as in other matters, and his wife had often observed that it would take the house on fire to rouse him. It was singular, therefore, that on this night he should wake up within an hour of his closing his eyes, with an idea in his mind which had not before presented itself in an intelligible shape.
"I say, old woman," he mumbled, "are you awake?" The instinct of habit caused Mrs. Chester to answer drowsily, "Yes, Dick," and to instantly fall asleep again.
"Rouse yourself." (Assisting her by a push.) "What time was it you told me the new lodger came in?"
Under the impression that the question had been put to her many hours since, and therefore not quite clear as to its purport, Mrs. Chester said,
"Eh, Dick?"
"Eh, Dick! and eh, Dick!" retorted Mr. Chester. "Now, then, are you listening?"