“I expect him every instant, sir,” said Arabella. “I persuaded him to take a walk this morning. He is very low and wretched at not having heard from his father.”
“Low, is he?” said the old gentleman. “Serve him right!”
“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 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.