“No,” said Flint, “not now. The only chance you have is to ignore the thing from now on. He may get tired of her—I've known such things to happen.”
“When she hears that I've disinherited him, she will get tired of him,” declared Mr. Worthington.
“Try it and see, if you like,” said Flint.
“Look here, Flint, if the woman has a spark of decent feeling, as you seem to think, I'll send for her and tell her that she will ruin Robert if she marries him.” Mr. Worthington always spoke of his son as “Robert.”
“You ought to have thought of that before the mass meeting. Perhaps it would have done some good then.”
“Because this Penniman woman has stirred people up—is that what you mean? I don't care anything about that. Money counts in the long run.”
“If money counted with this school-teacher, it would be a simple matter. I think you'll find it doesn't.”
“I've known you to make some serious mistakes,” snapped Mr. Worthington.
“Then why do you ask for my advice?”
“I'll send for her, and appeal to her better nature,” said Mr. Worthington, with an unconscious and sublime irony.