“Oh, you don’t, don’t you? Well, well. Never mind.”
“No I do not. And what is more, I will tell you something, Mr. Craik. When you were ill and I called to inquire, I came because I hoped to learn that you were dead. That may explain what I feel for you. I have not had a favourable opportunity of explaining the matter before, or I would have done so.”
“Good again!” replied the old gentleman. “Like frankness in young people. Eh, Totty? Eh, Mamie? Very frank young man, this, eh?”
“Furthermore, Mr. Craik,” continued George, not heeding him, “I will tell you that I will not lift a finger to have your money. I do not want it.”
“Exactly. Never enjoyed such sport in my life as trying to force money on a poor man who won’t take it. Good that, what? Eh, Totty? Don’t you think this is fun? Poor old Totty—all broken up! Bear these little things better myself.”
Totty was in a fit of hysterics and neither heard nor heeded, as she lay in the deep chair, sobbing, moaning and laughing all at once. George eyed her contemptuously.
“Either let us go,” he said to Craik, “and, if you have exhausted your wit, that would be the best thing; or else let Mrs. Trimm be taken away. I shall not leave you here to torment these ladies.”
“Seat in my carriage? Come along!” answered Mr. Craik with alacrity.
George led Mamie back into the little room beyond. As they went, he could hear the old man beginning to rail at his sister again, but he paid no attention. He felt that he could not leave Mamie without another word. The young girl followed him in silence. They stood together near the window, as far out of hearing as possible. George hesitated.
“What is it, George?” asked Mamie. “Do you want to say good-bye to me?” She spoke with evident effort.