“Don’t you be a old fool,” said Mr. Boom heatedly. “It’s done now, and what’s done can’t be undone. I never thought to have a son-in-law seven or eight years older than what I am, and what’s more, I don’t want it.”
“Said I wasn’t much to look at, but she liked my chest o’ drawers,” repeated Raggett mechanically.
“Don’t ask me where she gets her natur’ from, cos I couldn’t tell you,” said the unhappy parent; “she don’t get it from me.”
Mr. Raggett allowed this reflection upon the late Mrs. Boom to pass unnoticed, and taking his hat from the table fixed it firmly upon his head, and gazing with scornful indignation upon his host, stepped slowly out of the door without going through the formality of bidding him good-night.
“George,” said a voice from above him.
Mr. Raggett started, and glanced up at somebody leaning from the window.
“Come in to tea to-morrow early,” said the voice pressingly; “good-night, dear.”
Mr. Raggett turned and fled into the night, dimly conscious that a dark figure had detached itself from the stile opposite, and was walking beside him.
“That you, Dick?” he inquired nervously, after an oppressive silence.
“That’s me,” said Dick. “I heard her call you ‘dear.’” Mr. Raggett, his face suffused with blushes, hung his head.