“Thank you, sir,” says Sir John, in a curiously polite way; “I know that; but it was due yesterday, and it ought to have been paid.—’Ginny, write a note to the Misses Mimpriss with my compliments, and say I shall be obliged by their sending the rent.”
Miss Virginia got up and walked across to the writing-table; and I went on very slowly clearing the cloth, for Sir John always treated me as if I was a piece of furniture; but I felt uncomfortable, for it seemed to me that there was going to be a quarrel.
I was right; for as Miss Virginia began to write, Mr Barclay crushed the newspaper up in his hands and said hotly: “Surely, father, you are not going to insult those ladies by asking them for the money the moment it is due.”
“Yes, I am, sir,” says the old gentleman sharply; “and you mind your own business. When I’m dead, you can collect your rents as you like; while I live, I shall do the same.”
Miss Virginia got up quickly and went and laid her hand upon Sir John’s breast without saying a word; but her pretty appealing act meant a deal, and the old man took the little white hand in his and kissed it tenderly. “You go and do as I bid you, my pet,” he said; “and you, Burdon, wait for the note, take it over, and bring an answer.”
“Yes, Sir John,” I said quietly; and I heard Miss Virginia give a little sob as she went and sat down and began writing. Then I saw that the trouble was coming, and that there was to be a big quarrel between father and son.
“Look here, father,” says Mr Barclay, getting up and walking about the room, “I never interfere with your affairs—”
“I should think not, sir,” says the old man, very sarcastic-like.
“But I cannot sit here patiently and see you behave in so rude a way to those four ladies who honour you by being your tenants.”
“Say I feel greatly surprised that the rent was not sent over yesterday, my dear,” says Sir John, without taking any notice of his son.