“Charles Street! Oh, my dear Percy, pray, pray don’t think of going there!” cried Mrs Thorne. “What is going down Charles Street?”
“Going to enlist, mamma—taking the shilling.”
“Oh, my boy!—oh, Percy!”
“Well, what’s the good of coming down here to have your own sister turn dead against you, like the confounded cads at the office.”
“I do not turn against you, Percy,” said Hazel; “but I cannot help thinking there is something wrong.”
“That’s right; go it. Nice opinion you’ve got of your brother. Something wrong, indeed! Why, what do you suppose is wrong?”
“For shame, Hazel! How dare you!” cried Mrs Thorne. “It is cruel to him, and an insult to me. Why do you think such things of your poor orphaned brother? If your father had been alive, you would never have dared to speak so harshly. Oh, Hazel, Hazel, you make my life a burden to me, indeed, indeed.”
“My dear mother, those words are uncalled for. I only asked Percy for some explanation of his conduct. We have had no warning of this; not one of his letters has hinted at the possibility of his leaving his situation; but we do know that he has been extravagant.”
“Go it,” cried Percy sulkily; and he began to rummage in his pockets.
“Really, Hazel, I think he has managed on very little,” said Mrs Thorne indignantly.