"Don't you know," he was saying feebly; and, as he said it, he stifled another yawn; "I should certainly try to do something myself."
"What?"
"Well, perhaps a little farming. I think I could help to keep the pot on the boil by making and selling hunters—and a good deal can be done with poultry, if you set to work in the right way.... Enid seemed to like the notion of living in the country."
Mrs. Thompson turned the revolving chair round a few inches towards the desk, and politely told Mr. Kenion that she need not detain him any further.
He had come in loungingly, and he went out loungingly; but he was limper after the interview than before it. He probably felt that the stuffing had been more or less knocked out of him; for he presently turned into a saloon bar, and sought to brace himself again with strong stimulants.
No doubt he complained bitterly enough to Enid of the severely chilling reception that he had met with in the queer back room behind the shop. Anyhow Enid complained with bitterness to her mother. Indeed at this crisis of her life Enid was horrid. Yates begged her to be more considerate, and committed a breach of confidence by telling her of how her unkind tone had twice made the mistress weep; but Enid could attend only to one thing at a time. She wanted her sweetheart, and she thought it very hard that anybody should attempt to deprive her of him.
"And it will all be no use, mother—because I never, never can give him up."
Thus the days passed miserably; and a sort of stalemate seemed to have occurred. Kenion had not retired, but he was not coming on; and Enid was horrid.
In her perplexity and distress Mrs. Thompson went to Mr. Prentice, and asked him for advice and aid.