Arthur had given up hope of winning Barbara, but the thought that the bookbinder-fellow might now, as he vulgarly phrased it to himself, go in and win, swelled his heart with a yet fiercer jealousy. “I hate him,” he said in his heart. Yet Arthur was not a bad fellow as fellows go. He was only a man for himself, believing every man must be for himself, and count the man in his way his enemy. He was just a man who had not begun to stop being a devil.
At breakfast lady Ann was almost attentive to her stepson. As it happened they were left alone at the table. Suddenly she addressed him.
“Richard, I have one request to make of you,” she said; “I hope you will grant it me!”
“I will if I can,” he answered; “but I must not promise without knowing what it is.”
“You do not feel bound to please me, I know! I have the misfortune not to be your mother!”
“I feel bound to please you where I can, and shall be more than glad to do so.”
“It is a small thing I am going to ask. I should not have thought of mentioning it, but for the terms you seem upon with Mr. Wingfold.”
“I hope to see him within an hour or so.”
“I thought as much!—Do you happen to remember a small person who came a good deal about the house when you were at work here?”
“If your ladyship means Miss Wylder, I remember her perfectly.”