‘He feels it on my account, I am afraid,’ said Arabella; ‘and indeed, Sir, I feel it deeply on his. I have been the sole means of bringing him to his present condition.’
‘Don’t mind it on his account, my dear,’ said the old gentleman. ‘It serves him right. I am glad of it—actually glad of it, as far as he is concerned.’
The words were scarcely out of the old gentleman’s lips, when footsteps were heard ascending the stairs, which he and Arabella seemed both to recognise at the same moment. The little gentleman turned pale; and, making a strong effort to appear composed, stood up, as Mr. Winkle entered the room.
‘Father!’ cried Mr. Winkle, recoiling in amazement.
‘Yes, sir,’ replied the little old gentleman. ‘Well, Sir, what have you got to say to me?’
Mr. Winkle remained silent.
‘You are ashamed of yourself, I hope, Sir?’ said the old gentleman.
Still Mr. Winkle said nothing.
‘Are you ashamed of yourself, Sir, or are you not?’ inquired the old gentleman.
‘No, Sir,’ replied Mr. Winkle, drawing Arabella’s arm through his. ‘I am not ashamed of myself, or of my wife either.’