“If I had kept it from you, Ma, you may be sure it would have been for your peace and quiet, and for the good of the young men, and in my best discharge of my duty according to my lights.”
The old lady immediately walked across the room and kissed him: saying, “Of course, my dear Sept, I am sure of that.”
“However, it became the town-talk,” said Mr. Crisparkle, rubbing his ear, as his mother resumed her seat, and her knitting, “and passed out of my power.”
“And I said then, Sept,” returned the old lady, “that I thought ill of Mr. Neville. And I say now, that I think ill of Mr. Neville. And I said then, and I say now, that I hope Mr. Neville may come to good, but I don’t believe he will.” Here the cap vibrated again considerably.
“I am sorry to hear you say so, Ma—”
“I am sorry to say so, my dear,” interposed the old lady, knitting on firmly, “but I can’t help it.”
“—For,” pursued the Minor Canon, “it is undeniable that Mr. Neville is exceedingly industrious and attentive, and that he improves apace, and that he has—I hope I may say—an attachment to me.”
“There is no merit in the last article, my dear,” said the old lady, quickly; “and if he says there is, I think the worse of him for the boast.”
“But, my dear Ma, he never said there was.”
“Perhaps not,” returned the old lady; “still, I don’t see that it greatly signifies.”