“The doctors can’t master that cough, brother.  It’s just like what I have; for I’m your own sister, constitution and everything.  But, as I was saying, it’s a pity Mrs. Vincy’s family can’t be better conducted.”

“Tchah! you said nothing o’ the sort.  You said somebody had made free with my name.”

“And no more than can be proved, if what everybody says is true.  My brother Solomon tells me it’s the talk up and down in Middlemarch how unsteady young Vincy is, and has been forever gambling at billiards since home he came.”

“Nonsense!  What’s a game at billiards?  It’s a good gentlemanly game; and young Vincy is not a clodhopper.  If your son John took to billiards, now, he’d make a fool of himself.”

“Your nephew John never took to billiards or any other game, brother, and is far from losing hundreds of pounds, which, if what everybody says is true, must be found somewhere else than out of Mr. Vincy the father’s pocket.  For they say he’s been losing money for years, though nobody would think so, to see him go coursing and keeping open house as they do.  And I’ve heard say Mr. Bulstrode condemns Mrs. Vincy beyond anything for her flightiness, and spoiling her children so.”!

“What’s Bulstrode to me?  I don’t bank with him.”

“Well, Mrs. Bulstrode is Mr. Vincy’s own sister, and they do say that Mr. Vincy mostly trades on the Bank money; and you may see yourself, brother, when a woman past forty has pink strings always flying, and that light way of laughing at everything, it’s very unbecoming.  But indulging your children is one thing, and finding money to pay their debts is another.  And it’s openly said that young Vincy has raised money on his expectations.  I don’t say what expectations.  Miss Garth hears me, and is welcome to tell again.  I know young people hang together.”

“No, thank you, Mrs. Waule,” said Mary Garth.  “I dislike hearing scandal too much to wish to repeat it.”

Mr. Featherstone rubbed the knob of his stick and made a brief convulsive show of laughter, which had much the same genuineness as an old whist-player’s chuckle over a bad hand.  Still looking at the fire, he said—­

“And who pretends to say Fred Vincy hasn’t got expectations?  Such a fine, spirited fellow is like enough to have ’em.”

There was a slight pause before Mrs. Waule replied, and when she did so, her voice seemed to be slightly moistened with tears, though her face was still dry.

“Whether or no, brother, it is naturally painful to me and my brother Solomon to hear your name made free with, and your complaint being such as may carry you off sudden, and people who are no more Featherstones than the Merry-Andrew at the fair, openly reckoning on your property coming to them.  And me your own sister, and Solomon your own brother!  And if that’s to be it, what has it pleased the Almighty to make families for?” Here Mrs. Waule’s tears fell, but with moderation.