"Oh, Lord! no. I'm going off, my dear. I've had sleep enough for forty. I—" he turned his mouth to Rhoda's ear, "I don't want t' see th' old farmer." And, as if he had given a conclusive reason for his departure, he bored towards the door, repeating it, and bawling additionally, "in the morning."
"You have seen him, uncle. You have seen him. It's over," said Rhoda.
Anthony whispered: "I don't want t' see th' old farmer."
"But, you have seen him, uncle."
"In the morning, my dear. Not in the morning. He'll be looking and asking, 'Where away, brother Tony?' 'Where's your banker's book, brother Tony?' 'How's money-market, brother Tony?' I can't see th' old farmer."
It was impossible to avoid smiling: his imitation of the farmer's country style was exact.
She took his hands, and used every persuasion she could think of to induce him to return to his bed; nor was he insensible to argument, or superior to explanation.
"Th' old farmer thinks I've got millions, my dear. You can't satisfy him. He… I don't want t' see him in the morning. He thinks I've got millions. His mouth'll go down. I don't want… You don't want him to look… And I can't count now; I can't count a bit. And every post I see 's a policeman. I ain't hiding. Let 'em take the old man. And he was a faithful servant, till one day he got up on a regular whirly-go- round, and ever since…such a little boy! I'm frightened o' you, Rhoda."
"I will do everything for you," said Rhoda, crying wretchedly.
"Because, the young squire says," Anthony made his voice mysterious.