Nevertheless, Margaret said, ‘Well, uncle?’ before she could stop herself.
‘It is not well,’ he answered passionately; ‘it is devilish bad.’
‘But surely Mr. Harris was not uncivil?’
‘Uncivil? Who wants his civility? Who but a fool would expect it in a theatrical manager? Bring me the play—the “Vortigern.”’
‘What is the matter now?’ inquired William Henry.
His manner, as usual, was imperturbable. Mr. Erin—so great was the revolution wrought in him by recent circumstances—seemed at once to derive comfort from it. ‘Well, it’s very unfortunate, but it seems that an objection has been discovered—insignificant in itself—but which seriously affects its genuineness.’
‘Indeed? There have been a good many not insignificant objections—and yet it has been generally accepted,’ said the young man smiling.
‘It’s nothing to smile at, I do assure you, if what that fellow said is correct.’
He had the manuscript before him, and was examining it with nervous eagerness through his glasses. ‘Yes, here’s one, and here’s another and with an e. Why should Shakespeare spell and with an e?’
He looked up sharply at his son, as if asking a riddle of one who has the answer to it.