Mr. Marchmont frowned, and flung aside his newspaper, with a gesture expressive of considerable vexation.
"Now really, Lavinia, this is too bad," he said; "if your husband is a fool, I am not going to be bored about his folly. You have managed him for fifteen years: surely you can go on managing him now without annoying me about him? If Mr. George Weston doesn't know when he's well off, he's an ungrateful cur, and you may tell him so, with my compliments."
He picked up his newspaper again, and began to read. But Lavinia Weston, looking anxiously at her brother's face, saw that his pale auburn brows were contracted in a thoughtful frown, and that, if he read at all, the words upon which his eyes rested could convey very little meaning to his brain.
She was right; for presently he spoke to her, still looking at the page before him, and with an attempt at carelessness.
"Do you think that fellow would go to Australia, Lavinia?"
"Alone?" asked his sister.
"Yes, alone of course," said Mr. Marchmont, putting down his paper, and looking at Mrs. Weston rather dubiously. "I don't want you to go to the Antipodes; but if––if the fellow refused to go without you, I'd make it well worth your while to go out there, Lavinia. You shouldn't have any reason to regret obliging me, my dear girl."
The dear girl looked rather sharply at her affectionate brother.
"It's like your selfishness, Paul, to propose such a thing," she said, "after all I've done––––!"
"I have not been illiberal to you, Lavinia."