‘Nearer three, I think,’ said Trent.
‘Nearer three!’ cried Quilp. ‘How fast time flies. Does it seem as long as that to you, Mrs Quilp?’
‘Yes, I think it seems full three years, Quilp,’ was the unfortunate reply.
‘Oh indeed, ma’am,’ thought Quilp, ‘you have been pining, have you? Very good, ma’am.’
‘It seems to me but yesterday that you went out to Demerara in the Mary Anne,’ said Quilp; ‘but yesterday, I declare. Well, I like a little wildness. I was wild myself once.’
Mr Quilp accompanied this admission with such an awful wink, indicative of old rovings and backslidings, that Mrs Jiniwin was indignant, and could not forbear from remarking under her breath that he might at least put off his confessions until his wife was absent; for which act of boldness and insubordination Mr Quilp first stared her out of countenance and then drank her health ceremoniously.
‘I thought you’d come back directly, Fred. I always thought that,’ said Quilp setting down his glass. ‘And when the Mary Anne returned with you on board, instead of a letter to say what a contrite heart you had, and how happy you were in the situation that had been provided for you, I was amused—exceedingly amused. Ha ha ha!’
The young man smiled, but not as though the theme was the most agreeable one that could have been selected for his entertainment; and for that reason Quilp pursued it.
‘I always will say,’ he resumed, ‘that when a rich relation having two young people—sisters or brothers, or brother and sister—dependent on him, attaches himself exclusively to one, and casts off the other, he does wrong.’
The young man made a movement of impatience, but Quilp went on as calmly as if he were discussing some abstract question in which nobody present had the slightest personal interest.