'Never you mind,' said the old vagrant, staring sombrely at the floor—the spleen in person. 'Only I want my freedom, I tell you—and a bit of air, sometimes—and by gad I'll have 'em!'
And throwing back his grey head with a jerk he fixed an angry eye on Dora. Dora had grown paler, but she said nothing; her fingers went steadily on with her work; from early morning now till late night neither they nor she were ever at rest. After a minute's silence Lomax walked to the door, flung a good-night behind him and disappeared.
Dora hastily drew her hand across her eyes, then threaded her needle as though nothing had happened. But David was perplexed and sorry. How white and thin she looked, to be sure! That old lunatic must be worrying her somehow.
He moved his chair nearer to Dora.
'Is there anything wrong, Miss Dora?' he asked her, dropping his voice.
She looked up with a quick gratitude, his voice and expression putting a new life into her.
'Oh! I don't know,' she said, gently and sadly. 'Father's been very restless these last few weeks. I can't keep him at home. And I'm not always dull like this. I've done my best to cheer him up. And I don't think there's much amiss with the Parlour—yet—only the outgoings are so large every day. I'm always feeart—'
She paused, and a visible tremor ran through her. David's quick eye understood the signs of strain and fatigue, and he felt a brotherly pity for her—a softer, more normal feeling than Louie had ever called out in him.
'I say,' he said heartily, 'if there's anything I can do, you'll let me know, wont you?'
She smiled at him, and then turned to her work again in a hurry, afraid of her own eyes and lips, and what they might be saying.