His tormentor continued.
"For," said my mother, with a pretty calculating shake of her head, and a movement of the right forefinger towards the five fingers of the left hand, "L370,—the interest of Austin's fortune,—and L50 that we may reckon for the rent of our house, make L420 a year. Add your L330 a year from the farm, sheep-walk, and cottages that you let, and the total is L750. Now, with all we get for nothing for our housekeeping, as I said before, we can do very well with L500 a year, and indeed make a handsome figure. So, after allowing Sisty L150, we still have L100 to lay by for Blanche."
"Stop, stop, stop!" cried the Captain in great agitation; "who told you that I had L330 a year?"
"Why, Bolt,—don't be angry with him."
"Bolt is a blockhead. From L330 a year take L200, and the remainder is all my income, besides my half-pay."
My mother opened her eyes, and so did I.
"To that L130 add, if you please, L130 of your own. All that you have over, my dear sister, is yours or Austin's, or your boy's; but not a shilling can go to give luxuries to a miserly, battered old soldier. Do you understand me?"
"No, Roland," said my mother; "I don't understand you at all. Does not your property bring in L330 a year?"
"Yes, but it has a debt of L200 a year on it," said the Captain, gloomily and reluctantly.
"Oh, Roland!" cried my mother tenderly, and approaching so near that, had my father been in the room, I am sure she would have been bold enough to kiss the stern Captain, though I never saw him look sterner and less kissable. "Oh, Roland!" cried my mother, concluding that famous Epiphonema which my uncle's Aposiopesis had before nipped in the bud, "and yet you would have made us, who are twice as rich, rob you of this little all!"