“Happy to welcome him,” said Mr. Jericho; and he rose, and approaching Basil, held out his hand. Basil, with a look of horror, started back.
“Basil! My love!” cried Mrs. Jericho, astonished at her son’s emotion. “What is the matter?”
“Why, the truth is, dear madam”—said Basil—“I haven’t seen Mr. Jericho for some time; and if he continue to dwindle at the same rate, I take it in another month he’ll hardly be visible to the naked eye.”
“Mr. Pennibacker,”—said Jericho, with all his power of money—“have you any business with me?”
“If you please—in private,” and Basil looked at his mother.
“Basil!” cried Mrs. Jericho, in a tone of protest; but Jericho waved his hand, and without another word, Mrs. Jericho obeyed the implied gesture. Some shrews are tamed by the more tyrannous constitution. Mrs. Jericho had been altogether overcome, softened into the most docile of creatures by her husband’s money. He seemed to have bought the good-will of her bad temper.
“I am to understand, Mr. Pennibacker,” said Jericho majestically, “that you refuse my hand?”
“If you please,” answered Basil.
“It is my affection for your mother, my love for her daughters, and—I ought to be ashamed perhaps to confess the weakness—and a lingering esteem for you, that induce me to condescend to ask, why you presume to refuse the hand—the hand, young man—that has fostered you?”
“Mr. Jericho,” said Basil, plunging into his subject, “are you aware what the world says of you?”