Poor Mrs Hallett was, no doubt, a great sufferer; and as I grow older and knew her better, the annoyance I used to feel at her unreasonable ways dropped aside to make room for pity.
One thing always struck me, and that was, that though she was constantly murmuring about Stephen’s wasting time over his schemes, and the wretched way in which he was constantly plodding on, instead of ambitiously trying to rise to some profession, it was dangerous for anyone else to speak of such a thing.
At the appointed time I called upon Mr Jabez, and he accompanied me to Great Ormond Street, looking brighter and younger than I had ever seen him look before. His snuff-box was in constant use, and he on the way, after vainly trying to stand treat, as he called it, by stopping at the various grocers’ windows, and wanting to buy me a box of candied fruits or French plums, went on tatting about Miss Carr.
“Antony Grace,” he exclaimed; “that fellow will wake up some day.”
“What fellow?”
“Lister. The fool! the idiot! the ass! Why, an earthly heaven was open to him, and he turned his back upon it. There’s a life of repentance for him.”
“I can’t understand it,” I said.
“Humph! No,” he continued; and he kept glancing at me curiously, as if eager to say something—to ask me some question; but he refrained.
“I’m glad you liked Miss Carr,” I said at last.
“Liked her, boy?” he exclaimed enthusiastically; and he stopped in the centre of the pavement. “There, I suppose I’m growing into an old fool, but that’s no business of anybody. That young lady, sir, can command Jabez Rowle from this moment. Here, come along; the people are looking at you.”