Miser Farebrother Volume I Part 10

"I have not been egged on to it," said Phoebe, with spirit; "and it is entirely a fancy of yours that I spoke in a tone of reproach."

"It is no fancy I am never wrong--never. Your mother died when you were almost a baby in arms. You have no remembrance of her; it isn't possible that you can remember her."

"I do not remember her, father," said Phoebe, with a touch of sadness in her tone; "but Aunt Leth has a portrait of her, which I often and often look at, and I am glad to know that I am like her. You surely can't be displeased at that?"

"Aunt Leth! Aunt Leth! Aunt Leth!" he exclaimed, fretfully; and then, with unreasonable vehemence, "Why do you try to irritate me?"

"I do not try," said Phoebe, "and I do not thwart and go against you."

"You do--in everything. You don't care to please me; you don't take the least trouble to carry out my wishes. Being confined, on and off, to this house for years by my cursed rheumatism, unable, as you know, to go to my London office, and forced to trust to a man who may be robbing me secretly all the time he is in my service, I have endeavoured to train you to be of some a.s.sistance to me, and to make up my accounts here when I am too weak and in too much pain to make them up for myself. What has been the result? Upon looking over the papers you have written I have seldom found one of them correct. Nothing but errors in the casting-up and in the calculations of interest--errors which would have been the ruin of me had I taken your work for granted. It wouldn't matter so much if your mistakes were in my favour, but they are not; they are always against me. The sum total is always too little instead of too much. Is this what I have a right to expect from a child I have nourished and fed?"

"I can't help it, father. I have told you over and over again that I have no head for figures."

"'No head for figures!'" he muttered. "Where should _I_ be, I'd like to know, if I had no head for figures? In the workhouse, where you'll drive me to in the end. You will be satisfied then--eh?"

"I _cannot_ help it, father," Phoebe repeated. "I never _could_ add up so as to be depended upon; I never _could_ calculate interest; I never _could_ subtract or multiply. If it hadn't been for Aunt Leth, I don't believe I should ever have been able to read or write at all."

"Oh, you throw that in my teeth, because I was too poor to afford a governess for you?"

"Not at all, father. You do what you think is best, I dare say. I only mention it out of justice to Aunt Leth, of whom you have not a good opinion."

"How do you know that? Have I ever troubled myself about her at all?

Did I commence this, or you? Am I in the habit of dragging her name into our conversations for the purpose of speaking ill of her?"

"Neither of speaking ill or well, father. That is what I complain of.

After what she has done for me you might have acted differently toward her."

"Ah, it's coming now. She _has_ egged you on!"

"She has not," said Phoebe, stamping her foot; her loyal nature was deeply wounded by those shafts aimed at one she loved so well. "She hasn't the slightest idea that I had it in my mind to speak to you at all about her, and I _have_ had it in my mind for a long time past."

"I remember now what I was going to say a minute ago. We will go upon sure ground, you, I, and your precious aunt and uncle. We will have no delusions. They think I am rich--eh?"

"They have never said a word about your money; they are too high-minded."

"But they _do_ think I am rich. Now I will let you into a secret, and you can let them into it if you like. I am not rich; I am a pauper; and when I die you will find yourself a beggar."

"Aunt Leth will give me a home, father, when it comes to that."

"That's your affection!--taking the idea of my death so coolly. But I am not going to die yet, my girl--not yet, not yet. Why, there was a man who grew to be old, much older than I am, and who was suddenly made young and handsome and well-formed, with any amount of money at his command----"

"Oh, hush, father! These are wicked thoughts. You make me tremble."

"Why do you provoke me, then?" he cried, raising his crutch stick as though he would like to strike her. "You see how I am suffering, and you haven't a spark of feeling in you. Haven't I enough to put up with already, without being irritated by my own flesh and blood? There _was_ such a man, and there's no harm in speaking of him. What was his name?

This infernal rheumatism drives everything out of my head. What was his name?"

"Faust."

"You have read about him?"

"Yes; and I went to the theatre and saw the most lovely opera about it.

I can play nearly all the music in it."

"You can play, eh? How did you manage that? Who gave you lessons?"

"Aunt Leth. She has a beautiful piano."

"You never told me you had been to the theatre."

"I have told you often that I have been with Aunt and Uncle Leth to different theatres."

"But to this particular one, where the opera was played?"

"Yes, I told you, father. You must have forgotten it."

"The opera! An expensive amus.e.m.e.nt which only rich people can afford.

Your aunt took you, of course?"

"Yes."

"And she is poor, eh?--so very, very poor that it is quite wonderful how she manages!"

"She had a ticket given to her for a box that almost touched the ceiling. She could not afford to pay for it. Every time she has taken me to a theatre it was with a ticket given to her by Uncle Leth's relations. She _is_ poor."

"And I am poorer. If you have read about Faust--if you go to the theatre and see him, why do you call me wicked for simply speaking of him? Is there really any truth in it, I wonder? There are strange things in the world. _Could_ life and youth be bought? If it could--if it could----" He paused, and looked around with trembling eagerness.

Phoebe was too much frightened to speak for a little while; her father's eager looks and words terrified her. In a few minutes he recovered himself, and said, coldly,

"Finish about your aunt and uncle."

"Yes, father, I will. It isn't much I want. Next Sat.u.r.day is my birthday, and Uncle Leth comes home early from his bank. He has never been to Parksides; and Aunt Leth hasn't been here for years. May I ask them to come in the evening?"

"Is that all--you are sure that is all?"

"Yes, that is all."

Miser Farebrother felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his heart. He had been apprehensive that Phoebe intended to ask him to lend them a sum of money.

"They wished me," said Phoebe, "to spend my birthday at their house; but I thought I _should_ like them to come here instead. They made a party for me last year, and the year before last too; and it is so mean to be always taking and never giving."

"I don't agree with you. If people like to give, it shows they get a pleasure out of it, and it is folly to prevent them. But if you've set your heart upon it, Phoebe----"

"Yes, I have, father."

"Well, you can ask them; unless," he added, with a sudden suspicion, "you have already arranged everything."

"Nothing is arranged. Thank you, father."

"They will come after tea, I suppose?"