“Why, mamma’s husband. He is not my papa by rights.”
“Certainly not, my love; not by rights—I comprehend.”
“Eh!”
“Yes, I am going to see your papa by wrongs—Mr. Templeton.”
“Oh, this way, then.”
“You are very fond of Mr. Templeton, my little angel.”
“To be sure I am. You have not seen the rocking-horse he is going to give me.”
“Not yet, sweet child! And how is mamma?”
“Oh, poor, dear mamma,” said the child, with a sudden change of voice, and tears in her eyes. “Ah, she is not well!”
“In the family way, to a dead certainty!” muttered Ferrers with a groan: “but here is my uncle. Horrid name! Uncles were always wicked fellows. Richard the Third and the man who did something or other to the babes in the wood were a joke to my hard-hearted old relation, who has robbed me with a widow! The lustful, liquorish old—My dear sir, I’m so glad to see you!”