Will you come, Mr. Benson?"
He needed no other word. He went with her, as she rapidly
threaded her way through the by-streets. When they reached the
house, she went in without knocking, and, putting her husband's
letter into Mr. Benson's hand, she opened the door of her
father's room, and saying--"Papa, here is Mr. Benson," left them
alone.
Mr. Benson felt nervously incapable of knowing what to do, or to
say. He had surprised Mr. Bradshaw sitting idly over the
fire--gazing dreamily into the embers. But he had started up, and
drawn his chair to the table, on seeing his visitor; and, after
the first necessary words of politeness were over, he seemed to
expect him to open the conversation.
"Mrs. Farquhar has asked me," said Mr. Benson, plunging into the
subject with a trembling heart, "to tell you about a letter she
has received from her husband;" he stopped for an instant, for he
felt that he did not get nearer the real difficulty, and yet
could not tell the best way of approaching it.
"She need not have given you that trouble. I am aware of the
reason of Mr. Farquhar's absence. I entirely disapprove of his
conduct. He is regardless of my wishes; and disobedient to the
commands which, as my son-in-law, I thought he would have felt
bound to respect. If there is any more agreeable subject that you
can introduce, I shall be glad to hear you, sir."
"Neither you, nor I, must think of what we like to hear or to
say.
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