“Because I have brains enough not to complicate matters by a personal row with the Goulds,” said Bobus, “though I could wish not to have been there, when the keepers would infallibly have done so. Shall I write to George Gould, or will you, mother?”
“Oh dear,” sighed Caroline, “I think Mr. Wakefield is the fittest person, if it signifies enough to have it done at all.”
“Signifies!” cried Jock. “To have that rascal loafing about! I wouldn’t be trampled upon while the life is in me!”
“I don’t like worrying Mr. Gould. It is not his fault, except for having married such a wife, poor man.”
“Having been married by her, you mean,” said Bobus. “Mark me, she means to get that fellow married to that poor child, as sure as fate.”
“Impossible, Bobus! His age!”
“He is a good deal younger than his sister, and a prodigious swell.”
“Besides, he is her uncle,” said Jock.
“No, no, only her uncle’s wife’s brother.”
“That’s just the same.”