"I would," said Mrs. Merry, setting her mouth, "but you're married to me, worse luck. I can't get rid of you. See here, Giles, you go away and leave me and Cain alone, and I'll give you five pounds."
"I want five hundred," said Giles, "I'll stop here as long as I like. I'm quite able to save myself from being accused of Strode's murder. As to Cain," Giles chuckled, "he's taken up with a business you won't like, Selina?"
"What is it?--oh, what is it?" gasped Mrs. Merry, clasping her hands.
"The Salvation Army."
"What! Has he joined the Salvation Army?"
"Yes," sneered the father; "he chucked the circus at Chelmsford, and said it was a booth of Satan. Now he's howling about the street in a red jersey, and talking pious."
Mrs. Merry raised her thin hands to heaven. "I thank God he has found the light," she said solemnly, "I'm Methodist myself, but I hear the Army does much good. If the Army saves Cain's immortal soul," said the woman, weeping fast, "I'll bless its work on my bended knees. I believe Cain will be a comfort to me after all. Where are you going, Giles--not to the drawing-room?"
"As far as the door to listen," growled Merry. "I'm sick of hearing you talk pious. I'll come and stop here, and twist Cain's neck if he prays at me."
"Trouble--trouble," wailed Mrs. Merry, wringing her hands, "I wish you'd go. Cain and me would be happier without you, whatever you may say, Giles, or Signor Antonio, or whatever wickedness you call yourself. Oh, I was a fool to marry you!"
Giles looked at her queerly. "Give me five hundred pounds, and I won't trouble you again," he said, "meanwhile"--he moved towards the door. Mrs. Merry made a bound like a panther and caught him.