'He's gone and made an ass o' himself, has Christopher,' said the housekeeper, colouring with displeasure.
'Why? How? What has he done?'
'He hain't done nothin' yet, mum, but he's bound he will, do the foolishest thing a man o' his years can do. An' he wants me to stan' by and see him! I do lose my patience whiles where I can't find it. As if Christopher hadn't enough to think of without that! Men is all just creatures without the power o' thought and foresight.'
'Thought?—why, that is precisely what is supposed to be their distinguishing privilege,' said Esther, a little inclined to laugh. 'And Christopher was always very foresighted.'
'He ain't now, then,' muttered his sister.
'What is he doing?'
'Miss Esther, that yellow-haired woman has got holt o' him.'
This was said with a certain solemnity, so that Esther was very much bewildered, and most incoherent visions flew past her brain. She waited dumbly for more.
'She has, mum,' the housekeeper repeated; 'and Christopher ain't a babby no more, but he's took—that's what he is. I wish, Miss Esther—as if that would do any good!—that we'd stayed in Seaforth, where we was. I'm that provoked, I don't rightly know myself. Christopher ain't a babby no more; but it seems that don't keep a man from bein' wuss'n a fool.'
'Do you mean'—