The old banker in these days had not a good time, nor, indeed, had the Boltons generally. Mrs. Bolton, though prone to grasp at power on every side, was apt, like some other women who are equally grasping, to expect almost omnipotence from the men around her when she was desirous that something should be done by them in accordance with her own bidding. Knowing her husband to be weak from age and sorrow, she could still jeer at him because he was not abnormally strong; and though her intercourse with his sons and their families was now scanty and infrequent, still by a word here and a line there she could make her reproaches felt by them all. Robert, who saw his father every day, heard very much of them. Daniel was often stung, and even Nicholas. And the reproaches reached as far as William, the barrister up in London. 'I am sure I don't know what we can do,' said the miserable father, sitting huddled up in his arm-chair one evening towards the end of August. It was very hot, but the windows were closed because he could not bear a draught, and he was somewhat impatiently waiting for the hour of prayers which were antecedent to bed, where he could be silent even if he could not sleep. 'There are five of you. One should be at the house every day to tell her of her duty.' 'I couldn't go.' 'They could go,--if they cared. If they cared they would go. They are her brothers.' 'Mr. Caldigate would not let them enter the house,' said the old man. 'Do you mean that he would separate her from her brother and her parents?' 'Not if she wished to see them. She is her own mistress, and he will abet her in whatever she may choose to do. That is what Robert says.' 'And what Robert says is to be law?' 'He knows what he is talking about.' Mr. Bolton as he said this shook his head angrily, because he was fatigued.