‘No, I have not, Tom.’
‘Nonsense,’ said her brother stoutly. ‘That’s a story. Don’t tell me! I know better. What is it, dear? I’m not with Mr Pecksniff now. I am going to try and settle myself in London; and if you are not happy here (as I very much fear you are not, for I begin to think you have been deceiving me with the kindest and most affectionate intention) you shall not remain here.’
Oh! Tom’s blood was rising; mind that! Perhaps the Boar’s Head had something to do with it, but certainly the footman had. So had the sight of his pretty sister—a great deal to do with it. Tom could bear a good deal himself, but he was proud of her, and pride is a sensitive thing. He began to think, ‘there are more Pecksniffs than one, perhaps,’ and by all the pins and needles that run up and down in angry veins, Tom was in a most unusual tingle all at once!
‘We will talk about it, Tom,’ said Ruth, giving him another kiss to pacify him. ‘I am afraid I cannot stay here.’
‘Cannot!’ replied Tom. ‘Why then, you shall not, my love. Heyday! You are not an object of charity! Upon my word!’
Tom was stopped in these exclamations by the footman, who brought a message from his master, importing that he wished to speak with him before he went, and with Miss Pinch also.
‘Show the way,’ said Tom. ‘I’ll wait upon him at once.’
Accordingly they entered the adjoining room from which the noise of altercation had proceeded; and there they found a middle-aged gentleman, with a pompous voice and manner, and a middle-aged lady, with what may be termed an excisable face, or one in which starch and vinegar were decidedly employed. There was likewise present that eldest pupil of Miss Pinch, whom Mrs Todgers, on a previous occasion, had called a syrup, and who was now weeping and sobbing spitefully.
‘My brother, sir,’ said Ruth Pinch, timidly presenting Tom.
‘Oh!’ cried the gentleman, surveying Tom attentively. ‘You really are Miss Pinch’s brother, I presume? You will excuse my asking. I don’t observe any resemblance.’