“Not from me,” said the MC, “for I am compelled to keep up appearances before the world, and my fees and offerings are not nearly so much as people imagine.”
“Then why don’t we live accordingly?” said the lad roughly.
“Allow me, with my experience, sir, to know best; and I desire that you will not take that tone towards me. Recollect, sir, that I am your father.”
“Indeed, dear papa, Morton does not mean to be disrespectful.”
“Silence, Claire. And you, Morton; I will be obeyed.”
“All right, father. I’ll obey fast enough, but it does seem precious hard to see Ikey down in the kitchen stuffing himself, and us up in the parlour going short so as to keep up appearances.”
“My boy,” said the MC pathetically, “it is Spartan-like. It is self-denying and manly. Have courage, and all will end well. I know it is hard. It is my misfortune, but I appeal to you both, do I ever indulge myself at your expense? Do I ever spare myself in my efforts for you?”
“No, no, no, dear,” cried Claire, rising with tears in her eyes to throw her arm round his neck and kiss him.
“Good girl!—good girl!” he said, smiling sadly, and returning the embrace. “But sit down, sit down now, and let us discuss these very weighty matters. Fortune is beginning to smile upon us, my dears. May is off my hands—well married.”
Claire shook her head sadly.