Cordially as
I disliked Theobald and Christina, I was in such a hopeless minority
in the opinion I had formed concerning them that it was pleasant to
find someone who agreed with me.
Then there came an awful moment for both of us.
A knock, as of a visitor and not a postman, was heard at my door.
"Goodness gracious," I exclaimed, "why didn't we sport the oak?
Perhaps it is your father. But surely he would hardly come at this
time of day! Go at once into my bedroom."
I went to the door, and, sure enough, there were both Theobald and
Christina. I could not refuse to let them in and was obliged to listen
to their version of the story, which agreed substantially with
Ernest's. Christina cried bitterly- Theobald stormed. After about
ten minutes, during which I assured them that I had not the faintest
conception where their son was, I dismissed them both. I saw they
looked suspiciously upon the manifest signs that someone was
breakfasting with me, and parted from me more or less defiantly, but I
got rid of them, and poor Ernest came out again, looking white,
frightened, and upset. He had heard voices, but no more, and did not
feel sure that the enemy might not be gaining over me.
Pages:
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524