Mr. Bradfield was looking at her intently.
“At any rate,” said he, with some wrath in his tone, “as long as you remain here, the sovereigns as well as the pennies will be forthcoming as often as they are wanted.”
Here Mrs. Abercarne thought fit to interpose majestically:
“My daughter was only using those particular terms as an illustration,” she said, in a suave manner; “as a matter of fact, neither the pennies nor the sovereigns are matters that concern her.”
Both Mr. Bradfield and Chris accepted this rebuke in silence; but they exchanged a look, and poor Chris could not help remembering Mr. Bradfield’s remark that her mother was a joke.
“At the same time,” went on Mrs. Abercarne, conscious that she had somewhat checked the evening’s pleasure, “I must confess that whatever cares one may have seem lighter when borne in a mansion like this, surrounded by treasures of art, and evidences of high culture.”
Mr. Bradfield tried to look as if he appreciated the compliment, and Chris, feeling that the atmosphere was growing frigid again, made a diversion.
“Indeed, Mr. Bradfield,” said she, “we’re never tired of looking at your beautiful things. Only all the cabinets and cupboards are always locked up, and it is very tantalising not to know what’s inside.”
“Well, here are my keys,” said he, as he took from his pocket a large bunch of various sizes. “Open anything you like; there is no Blue Beard’s chamber here.”