“Drab!” faltered poor Jane Fairfield; and she clutched hold of Leonard to save herself from falling.
“Sir!” cried Leonard, fiercely.
You might as well have cried “sir” to a mountain torrent. Richard hurried on, for he was furious.
“You nasty, dirty, dusty dowdy! How dare you come here to disgrace me in my own house and premises, after my sending you L50! To take the very time, too, when—when Richard gasped for breath; and the laugh of his guests rang in his ears, and got into his chest, and choked him. Jane Fairfield drew herself up, and her tears were dried.
“I did not come to disgrace you! I came to see my boy, and—”
“Ha!” interrupted Richard, “to see him.”
He turned to Leonard: “You have written to this woman, then?”
“No, sir, I have not.”
“I believe you lie.”
“He does not lie; and he is as good as yourself, and better, Richard Avenel,” exclaimed Mrs. Fairfield; “and I won’t stand here and hear him insulted,—that’s what I won’t. And as for your L50, there are forty-five of it; and I’ll work my fingers to the bone till I pay back the other five. And don’t be afeard I shall disgrace you, for I’ll never look on your face agin; and you’re a wicked, bad man,—that’s what you are!”