Clive was touched and pleased by this exhibition of kind feeling.
“You know his mother was an Absalom,” the good wife continues, pointing to her husband. “Most respectable diamond merchants in——”
“Hold your tongue, Betsy, and leave my poor old mother alone; do now,” says Mr. Sherrick darkly. Clive is in his uncle’s fond embrace by this time, who rebukes him for not having called in Walpole Street.
“Now, when will you two gents come up to my shop to ’ave a family dinner?” asks Sherrick.
“Ah, Mr. Newcome, do come,” says Julia in her deep rich voice, looking up to him with her great black eyes. And if Clive had been a vain fellow like some folks, who knows but he might have thought he had made an impression on the handsome Julia?
“Thursday, now make it Thursday, if Mr. H. is disengaged. Come along, girls, for the flies bites the ponies when they’re a-standing still and makes ’em mad this weather. Anything you like for dinner? Cut of salmon and cucumber? No, pickled salmon’s best this weather.”
“Whatever you give me, you know I’m thankful!” says Honeyman, in a sweet sad voice, to the two ladies, who were standing looking at him, the mother’s hand clasped in the daughter’s.
“Should you like that Mendelssohn for the Sunday after next? Julia sings it splendid!”
“No, I don’t, ma.”
“You do, dear! She’s a good, good dear, Mr. H., that’s what she is.”