Very plain fare will do for me. I--I ask your
pardon, sir, for that--that business about Mr. Palmer."
"The world has put you into a humble mood," said Mr. Faringfield, with
sarcastic indifference.
"Yes, sir; the way of transgressors is hard, sir."
"Why don't you sit down?" put in Mrs. Faringfield, who was made
uncomfortable by the sight of others being so.
"Thank you, mother," said Ned, availing himself of the implied
permission.
"I hear you've undergone a reformation," said his father.
"I hope so, sir. They tell me I've got religion."
"Who tells you?"
"The Methodists. I went to their meetings in London. I--I thought I
needed a little of that kind of thing. That's how I happened to--to
save my soul."
"And how do you conceive you will provide for your body?"
"I don't know yet--exactly. If I might stay here till I could find
some employment--"
Mr. Faringfield met the pleading look of Fanny, and the prudent one of
his wife. The latter reflected, as plainly as words, what had
manifestly entered his own mind: that immunity from future trouble on
Ned's account might indeed be had without recourse to a step entailing
public disgrace upon the family. So he said:
"My intention was, if you should ever show your face in New York
again, to see you punished for that matter of the money and Mr.
Palmer. I don't give up that intention; I shall only postpone carrying
it out, during your good behaviour.
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