Henry was in the act of opening his purse; he glanced apprehensively to Mrs. Lawson; his face had a mild and passive expression, which was a true index of his yielding and easily-governed nature. His features were small, delicate, and almost effeminately handsome; and in every lineament a want of decision and force of character was visible.
"Henry, give me some shillings, I say—I am your father—I have a just right."
"Yes, yes, surely," said Henry, making a movement to open his purse.
"Henry, I do not wish you to give him money to waste in charity, as he calls it."
Mrs. Lawson gave her husband an emphatic, but, at the same time, cunningly caressing and smiling look.
"Henry, I am your father—give me the money I want."
"Augusta, my love, you know it was all his," said Henry, going close to her, and speaking in a kind of whisper.
"My dearest Henry, were it for any other purpose but for throwing away, I would not refuse. I am your father's best friend, and your best friend, in wishing to restrain all extravagance."
"My dear father, she wishes to be economical, you know."
He dangled the purse, undecidedly, in his fingers.