Mr. Piper said that he was not boasting.
“It’ll go on like this, my dear, till you’re ruined,” said the sympathetic Mrs. Berry, turning to her friend again; “what’ll you do then?”
“Yes, I know,” said Mrs. Cox. “I’ve had a bad season, too, and I’m so anxious about him in spite of it all. I can’t sleep at nights for fearing that he’s in some trouble. I’m sure I laid awake half last night crying.”
Mrs. Berry sniffed loudly, and Mr. Piper making a remark in a low voice, turned on him with ferocity.
“What did you say?” she demanded.
“I said it does her credit,” said Mr. Piper, firmly.
“I might have known it was nonsense,” retorted his niece, hotly. “Can’t you get him to take the pledge, Mary?”
“I couldn’t insult him like that,” said Mrs. Cox, with a shiver; “you don’t know his pride. He never admits that he drinks; he says that he only takes a little for his indigestion. He’d never forgive me. When he pawns the things he pretends that somebody has stolen them, and the way he goes on at me for my carelessness is alarming. He gets worked up to such a pitch that sometimes I almost think he believes it himself.”
“Rubbish,” said Mrs. Berry, tartly, “you’re too easy with him.”
Mrs. Cox sighed, and, leaving the room, returned with a bottle of wine which was port to the look and red-currant to the taste, and a seedcake of formidable appearance. The visitors attacked these refreshments mildly, Mr. Piper sipping his wine with an obtrusive carefulness which his niece rightly regarded as a reflection upon her friend’s hospitality.