“I shall ask her straight what she means.”
“How shall we go on then?”
“How shall we go on then? What! won’t you have a word to put in about her marrying a fellow like that, your own servant with such a father? And how are they to live, pray? Am I to have him up here to tea with us, and is Phœbe to answer the front door when they knock, and is she to wait upon him, him who always goes down the area steps to the kitchen? I do not believe Phœbe would stop a month, for with all her faults she does like a respectable family. And then, if they go to church, are they to have our pew, and is Mrs. Colston to call on me and say, ‘How is Catharine, and how is your son-in-law?’ And then—oh dear, oh dear!—is his father to come here too, and is Catharine to bring him, and is he to be at the wedding breakfast? And perhaps Mrs. Colston will inquire after him too. But there, I shall not survive that! Oh! Catharine, Catharine!”
Mrs. Furze dropped on the chair opposite the looking-glass, for she was arranging her back hair while this monologue was proceeding, although the process was interrupted here and there when her emotions got the better of her. Her hair fell into confusion again, and it seemed as if she would again be upset even at that early hour. Her husband gave her a smelling-bottle, and she slowly recommenced her toilette.
“Would it not,” he said, “be as well to try and soften her a bit, and remind her of her duty to her parents?”
“You might finish up with that, but I don’t believe she’d care; and what are we to do if she owns it all and sticks out? That’s what I want to know.”
Mr. Furze was silent.
“There you sit, Furze; you are provoking! Pick up that hairpin, will you? You always sit and sit whenever there’s any difficulty. You never go beyond what I have in my own head, and when I do stir you up to think it is sure to be something of no use.”
“I’ll do anything you want,” said the pensive husband as his wife rose and put on her cap. “I’ve told you before I’ll get rid of Tom, and then perhaps it will all come round!”
“At it again! What did I tell you last night?—and yet you go on with your old tune. All come round, indeed! Would it! She’s your daughter, but you don’t know her as I do.”