“I don’t know, Stephen. She said there was something to fetch. How can I tell?” and she burst into tears.
“Mother, dear mother,” cried Hallett, bending over her and kissing her, “pray, pray don’t think me unkind; I am working for you, and Linny too.”
“But if you would only be more ambitious, Stephen—if you would only try your poor father’s profession.”
“I cannot—you know I cannot, dear,” he said appealingly.
“No, no, no,” sobbed the poor woman; “always some low mechanic’s pursuit. Oh dear, oh dear! If it would only please God to take me, and let me be at rest!”
“Mother, dear mother,” whispered Hallett, “be reasonable. Pray, dear, be reasonable, and bear with what does seem like neglect; for I am indeed working for you, and striving to make you a happier and better home. Believe this of me, and bear with me, especially now, when I have two troubles to meet that almost drive me mad. Linny, dear: think of Linny.”
“Shall I go now, Mr Hallett?” I said, for the scene was terrible to me, and I felt hot with indignation at one whom I looked upon as the most unreasonable of women.
“No, Antony; stay, I may want you,” he said sternly. “Now, mother,” he continued, “about Linny. She must not be allowed to go out at night like this.”
“No, my son,” said Mrs Hallett piteously; “and if you had taken my advice the poor child would not have been degraded to such menial tasks.”
“Mother,” said Hallett, with more sternness than I had yet heard him use in speaking to her, “it is not the mere going out shopping that is likely to degrade your child. The time has come when I must insist upon knowing the meaning of these frequent absences on Linny’s part. Has she gone out to-night on some necessary errand?”