She raised her book higher, so as to conceal her face, but still said nothing.
“At all events,” said he, in a more careless tone, “we are not going to add to the inducements which attract this gentleman to return home, and we must not forget that our host here may turn us out at any moment.”
“I think it will be our fault whenever he does so,” said she, quietly.
“Fault and misfortune are pretty much alike, to my thinking. There is one thing, however, I have made up my mind on,—I 'll bolt. When he gives notice to quit, he shall be obliged to provide for you and the brats out of sheer necessity. He cannot turn you out on the streets, he can't send you to the Union; you have no friends to whom he can pack you off; so let him storm as he likes: something he must do.”
To this speech she seemed to give no attention whatever. Whether the threat was an oft-repeated one, or that she was inured to coarseness of this nature, or that silence was the best line to take in these emergencies, she never appeared to notice his words.
“What about that money he promised you? Has he given it?” said he suddenly, when about to leave the room.
“No; he said something about selling out some mining-shares,—scrip he called it. I forget exactly what he said, but the purport was that he was pressed just now.”
“I take it he is. My mother's allowance is in arrear, and she is not one to bear the delay very patiently. So you 've got nothing?”
“Nothing, except ten pounds he gave Cary yesterday for her birthday.”
“Where is it?”