“Besides,” he added, slyly, “I presoom you have received a liberal pecooniary compensation from Squire Venner for nussin' his daughter.”
Helen was looking over the bill while he was speaking.
“Board and lodging for ten days, Mr. Peckham,—whose board and lodging, pray?”
The door opened before Silas Peckham could answer, and Mr. Bernard walked into the parlor. Helen was holding the bill in her hand, looking as any woman ought to look who has been at once wronged and insulted.
“The last turn of the thumbscrew!” said Mr. Bernard to himself.
“What is it, Helen? You look troubled.”
She handed him the account.
He looked at the footing of it. Then he looked at the items. Then he looked at Silas Peckham.
At this moment Silas was sublime. He was so transcendently unconscious of the emotions going on in Mr. Bernard's mind at the moment, that he had only a single thought.
“The accaount's correc'ly cast, I presoom;—if the' 's any mistake of figgers or addin' 'em up, it'll be made all right. Everything's accordin' to agreement. The minute written immed'ately after the intervoo is here in my possession.”