“Thrown a crutch? And what had you been doing to make him throw a crutch?”
“Doing? Why, nothing, except tell him that he was a fraud and a bankrupt. He took it all quite quietly till the end, then suddenly he said that if he wasn’t a cripple he would kick me downstairs, and threw a crutch at my head; and, by George! I believe from the look of him that if he could he would have done it too!”
“It is very possible,” said Ellen, “if you were foolish enough to use such language towards him. You have had an escape. Henry has a fearful temper when roused.”
“Then why on earth didn’t you say so before you sent me up there? Do you suppose that I enjoy being pelted with crutches by a mad sailor? Possible! Yes, it seems that anything is possible in this house; but I will tell you one thing that isn’t, and it is that I should stay here any longer. I scratch, now, on the spot. Do you understand, Ellen? The game is up, and you can marry whom you like.”
At this point Ellen touched him on the shoulder, and said, in a cold voice:
“Perhaps you are not aware that there are at least two servants listening to you? Will you be so kind as to follow me into the drawing-room?”
Edward obeyed. When Ellen put on her coldest and most imperious manner he always did obey, and it is probable that he will always continue to do so. He was infuriated, and he was humbled, still he could not resist that invitation into the drawing-room. It was a large apartment, and by some oversight the shutters that were closed for the funeral had never been reopened, therefore its aspect could not be called cheerful, though there was sufficient light to see by.
“Now, Mr. Milward,” said Ellen, stationing herself in the centre of a wide expanse of floor, for there were no little tables and knickknacks at Rosham, “I will ask you to be so good as to repeat what you were saying.”
Thus adjured, Edward looked around him, and his spirits sank. He could be vociferous enough in the sunlit hall, but here in this darkened chamber, that reminded him unpleasantly of corpses and funerals, with Ellen, of whom he was secretly afraid, standing cool and collected before him, a sudden humility fell upon him.
“Why do you call me Mr. Milward?” he asked: “it doesn’t sound right; and as for what I was saying, I was saying that I could not stand this sort of thing any more, and I think that we had better shut up the shop.”