“What is that to me?  He doesnt want me to go and live with him, does he?”

“You quite misunderstand me.  No such idea ever entered——­”

“There! go on.  I only said that to get a rise out of you, Doctor.  How do you make out that I should gain by leaving this house?”

“My father is willing to make you some amends for the withdrawal of such portion of Marmaduke’s income as you may forfeit by ceasing your connexion with him.”

“You have come to buy me out, in fact:  is that it?  What a clever old man your father must be!  Knows the world thoroughly, eh?”

“I hope I have not offended you?”

“Bless you, Doctor! nobody could be offended with you.  Suppose I agree to oblige you (you have a very seductive High Church way about you) who is to make Marmaduke amends for such portion of my income as our separation will deprive him of?  Eh?  I see that that staggers you a little.  If you will just tot up the rent of this house since we have had it; the price of the furniture; our expenses, including my carriage and Marmaduke’s horse and the boat; six hundred pounds of debt that he ran up before he settled down with me; and other little things; and then find out from his father how much money he has drawn within the last two years, I think you will find it rather hard to make the two balance.  Your uncle is far too good a man to give Marmaduke money to spend on me; but he was not too good to keep me playing in the provinces all through last autumn just to make both ends meet, when I ought to have been taking my holiday.  I wish you would tell his mother, your blessed pious Aunt Dora, to send Bob the set of diamonds his grandmother left him, instead of sermons which he never reads.”

“I thought Marmaduke had nearly a thousand a year, independently of his father.”

“A thousand a year!  What is that?  And your uncle would stop even that, if he could, to keep it out of my hands.  You may tell him that if it didnt come into my hands it would hardly last a week.  Only for the child, and the garden, and the sort of quiet life he leads here, he would spend a thousand a month.  And look at my expenses!  Look at my dresses!  I suppose you think that people wear cotton velvet and glazed calico on the stage, as Mrs. Siddons did in the old days when they acted by candlelight.  Why, between dress and jewellery, I have about two hundred pounds on my back at the present moment; and you neednt think that any manager alive will find dresses to that tune.  At the theatre they think me overpaid at fifty pounds a week, although they might shut up the house to-morrow if my name was taken out of the bills.  Tell your father that so far from my living on Bob, it is as much as I can do to keep this place going by my work—­not to mention the worry of it, which always falls on the woman.”

“I certainly had no idea of the case being as you describe,” said the clergyman, losing his former assurance.  “But would it not then be better for you to separate?”