‘My dear,’ said the manager, ‘how often have I urged you not to learn your part on the bed with the candle by your side or in your hand? You will set fire to your precious self some day.’
‘About the sheet, Barret,’ continued his wife; ‘I’ve paid for it, and have torn it into four. It will make pocket-handkerchiefs for you, dear.’
‘Rather large?’ asked the manager deferentially.
‘Rather, but that don’t matter. Last longer before coming to the wash, and so save money in the end.’
The manager was now at length able to reach and shake hands with Eve and Jasper.
‘Bless me, my dear child,’ he said to the former, ‘you remind me wonderfully of your mother. How is she? I should like to see her again. A sad pity she ever gave up the profession. She had the instincts of an artiste in her, but no training, horribly amateurish; that, however, would rub off.’
‘She is dead,’ answered Eve. ‘Did you not know that?’
‘Dead!’ exclaimed the manager. ‘Poor soul! so sweet, so simple, so right-minded. Dead, dead! Ah me! the angels go to heaven and the sinners are left. Did she remain with your father, or go home to her own parents?’
‘I thought,’ said Eve, much agitated, ‘that you could have told me concerning her.’
‘I!’ Mr. Justice Barret opened his eyes wide. ‘I!’