He looked from his mother to Mr. Havisham.
“Can I have it now?” he cried. “Can I give it to her this minute? She’s just going.”
Mr. Havisham handed him the money. It was in fresh clean [greenbacks] and made a neat roll.
Ceddie flew out of the room.
“Bridget!” they heard him shout, as [he tore] into the kitchen. “Bridget, wait a minute! Here’s some money. It’s for you, and you can pay the rent. My grandpapa gave it to me. It’s for you and Michael!”
“Oh, Master Ceddie!” cried Bridget, in an awestricken voice. “It’s [twinty-foive] dollars is here. [Where’s] the mistress?”
“I think I shall have to go and explain it to her,” Mrs. Errol said.
So she, too, went out of the room, and Mr. Havisham was left alone for a while. He went to the window and stood looking out into the street reflectively. He was thinking of the old Earl of Dorincourt, sitting in his great, splendid, gloomy library at the castle, gouty and lonely, surrounded by grandeur and luxury, but not really loved by any one, because in all his long life he had never really loved any one but himself. He could fill his castle with guests if he chose, but he knew that in secret the people who would accept his invitations were afraid of his frowning old face and sarcastic, biting speeches.
Mr. Havisham knew his hard, fierce ways by heart, and he was thinking of him as he looked out of the window into the quiet, narrow street. And there rose in his mind, in sharp contrast, the picture of the cheery, handsome little fellow sitting in the big chair and telling his story of his friends, Dick and the apple-woman, in his generous, innocent, honest way. And he thought of the immense income, the beautiful, majestic estates, the wealth, and power for good or evil, which in the course of time would lie in the small, [chubby] hands little Lord Fauntleroy thrust so deep into his pockets.
“It will make a great difference,” he said to himself. “It will make a great difference.”