"I beg your pardon, sir," said Osborne, really anxious to keep the
peace, "I went by my watch, which is certainly right by London time;
and I'd no idea you were waiting for me; otherwise I could have
dressed much quicker."
"I should think so," said the Squire, looking sarcastically at his
son's attire. "When I was a young man I should have been ashamed to
have spent as much time at my looking-glass as if I'd been a girl.
I could make myself as smart as any one when I was going to a dance,
or to a party where I was likely to meet pretty girls; but I should
have laughed myself to scorn if I'd stood fiddle-faddling at a glass,
smirking at my own likeness, all for my own pleasure."
Osborne reddened, and was on the point of letting fly some caustic
remark on his father's dress at the present moment; but he contented
himself with saying, in a low voice,--
"My mother always expected us all to dress for dinner. I got into the
habit of doing it to please her, and I keep it up now." Indeed, he
had a certain kind of feeling of loyalty to her memory in keeping
up all the little domestic habits and customs she had instituted or
preferred. But the contrast which the Squire thought was implied by
Osborne's remark, put him beside himself.
"And I, too, try to attend to her wishes. I do; and in more important
things. I did when she was alive; and I do so now."
"I never said you did not," said Osborne, astonished at his father's
passionate words and manner.
"Yes, you did, sir. You meant it. I could see by your looks. I saw
you look at my morning coat. At any rate, I never neglected any wish
of hers in her lifetime. If she'd wished me to go to school again
and learn my A, B, C, I would. By ---- I would; and I wouldn't have
gone playing me, and lounging away my time, for fear of vexing and
disappointing her. Yet some folks older than school-boys--"
The squire choked here; but though the words would not come his
passion did not diminish. "I'll not have you casting up your mother's
wishes to me, sir. You, who went near to break her heart at last!"
Osborne was strongly tempted to get up and leave the room. Perhaps it
would have been better if he had; it might then have brought about
an explanation, and a reconciliation between father and son. But he
thought he did well in sitting still and appearing to take no notice.
This indifference to what he was saying appeared to annoy the Squire
still more, and he kept on grumbling and talking to himself till
Osborne, unable to bear it any longer, said, very quietly, but very
bitterly--