“Goodness knows, mother; some mare’s nest or another.”
“I wake up to find what Joseph Banks, our trusty old foreman, also wakes up to find.”
“What!” roared Richard, thrown off his balance; “does he know?”
“Yes,” said Mrs Glaire; “he, too, knows. Does that touch you home?”
“Damn!” muttered Richard, between his teeth.
“Yes, Banks too has woke up to the fact that you are frequently seen alone, and in a clandestine manner, with his only child; but he believes that you love her, that you, in spite of your position, remember that you are only a workman’s son, and that you mean to marry a workman’s daughter, and bring her home here as the wife of the master of Dumford Works.”
“Confound it all!” muttered Richard, biting his nails.
“He smiles at the notion of your being engaged to Eve, for he believes you to be honourable and a gentleman, while I, your mother, am obliged to know that your designs are evil, that you plot the ruin of a poor, weak girl—I wake up, in short, to know that my son is behaving like a scoundrel.”
“Hold your tongue!” cried Richard, hoarsely; and leaping up, he took two or three turns backwards and forwards in the room, before throwing himself once more in his chair.
“But you’ve not spoken to Joe Banks?” he cried.