On uttering the last words he raised his voice so as she might distinctly hear him.
“She's above stairs gettin' the whiskey,” replied his father, “and God knows she's long enough about it.”
Hycy ran up, and meeting her on the lobby, said, in a low, anxious voice—
“Well, what news? Will he stand it?”
“No,” she replied, “you may give up the notion—he won't do it, an' there's no use in axin' him any more.”
“He won't do it!” repeated the son; “are you certain now?”
“Sure an' sartin. I done all that could be done; but it's worse an' worse he got.”
Something escaped Hycy in the shape of an ejaculation, of which we are not in possession at present; he immediately added:—
“Well, never mind. Heavens! how I pity you, ma'am—to be united to such a d—d—hem!—to such a—a—such a—gentleman!”
Mrs. Burke raised her hands as if to intimate that it was useless to indulge in any compassion of the kind.