“Yes: I brought him up with me, and he is with Harry now, unless Harry has turned him out of the room; for, when your husband said you were growing fond of him, William said that was nonsense, and I had a lot of trouble in getting them to leave each other alone.”
“But it is true, and it was very wrong of William to contradict him. He has been very kind to me, and I am quite glad that at last I can do something for him.”
“Frankly, Annie, I don’t think he’ll let you. He is very obstinate, you know, when once he gets an idea into his head; and he has taken to thinking that it would be beneath his dignity to live on your earnings. And really, you know, I think he is right.”
“But how is he to live any other way?”
“I don’t know, I am sure; I think that is what is bothering him, and the thought that he will have to leave you.”
“But he mustn’t do that.”
“Then you had better go and tell him so; he has been crying about that. He says, just as you were beginning to like him, all his work is undone again, and you will call him a loafer.”
“I will go to him,” said Annie; and she left Stephen, and went up-stairs to her sitting-room, where William rushed at her directly she opened the door.
She saw that Harry was lying on the sofa, with his face in the cushions; but she could not get at him at once, for “the child” was dancing round her, glancing at Harry and crossing his fingers with an expressive grimace, to intimate that his brother was in a bad temper and had better be left to the solitary enjoyment of it.
“He will only snap at you,” whispered he, as Annie pushed past him gently and went toward the sofa; and William, with his soft whistle, went out of the room.