“Yes, she’s very ill—delirious.”
Mr. Biron shot right out of the room into the hall with all his old agility. He was evidently as much afraid of his unhappy daughter as he was of Meg herself.
“Oh, these women, these women! They never can keep their heads!” moaned he. “And just when I’m as ill as I can be myself! I’ve been shivering all the way home, I have, indeed, Elshaw.”
Bram, who had left the door of the kitchen open so that he might be within hearing of a possible call or cry from Claire, was locking the front door and barring the shutters of the windows in deference to Mr. Biron’s wish.
He was too much used to Theodore’s utter selfishness to feel more than a momentary pang of disgust at this most recent manifestation of it. He was sorry for the poor wretch, whose prospects were certainly now as gloomy as he deserved. He recommended him to go upstairs and change his wet things, promising to come up and see him as soon as Joan arrived. And Mr. Biron, though at first exceedingly reluctant to move a step by himself, ended by preferring this alternative to returning to the room where his unconscious daughter lay.
He detained Bram for a few moments, however, to tell him of his adventures at Holme Park.
“When I got there, Bram, I was told that my brother-in-law was out. But as I had very particular business with him, I said I would wait. Well, you may hardly believe it, but they didn’t want even to let me do that. But I insisted; a desperate man will do much, and I made such a noise that Hester came out, and told the wretched creature who was refusing me admittance that I was to be let in. Well, I was wet through then, and they left me in a room with hardly any fire. And, would you believe it, the wretched man had the impudence to lock up my brother-in-law’s desk before my eyes! It was an intentional insult, Elshaw, inflicted upon me just because I am not able to keep up a big establishment of useless, insolent creatures like himself! But these people never will understand that there is anything in the world to be respected except money! And, after all, can one blame them when their masters and mistresses are no better? It’s all money, money, with Josiah Cornthwaite!”
Bram, who was anxious to get back to the kitchen that he might keep watch over Claire, cut him short.
“Well, and Mr. Cornthwaite? He arrived at last?”