“Tell myself a falsehood? What shall I gain by that? Let me tell you, it is these minor troubles that send a man to Bedlam. One breeds another, till they swarm and buzz you distracted, and sting you dead. _'Petit maiheur!'_ it is a greater one than you have ever encountered since you have been under _my_ wing.” “It is, dear, it is; but I hope to encounter much greater ones before I am your age.” “The deuce you do!” “Or else I shall die without ever having lived--a vegetable, not a human being.” “Bombast! a 'flower' your lovers will call you.” “And men of sense a 'weed.' But don't let us discuss me. What I wish to know is the nature of your annoyance, dear.” He explained to her with a groan that he should have to wind up all the affairs of an estate of 8,000 pounds a year, pay the annual and other encumbrances, etc., etc. “Well, but, dear, you will be quite at home in this, you have such a turn for business.” “For my own,” shrieked the old bachelor, angrily, “not for other people's. Why, Lucy, there will be half a dozen separate accounts, all of four figures. It is not as if executors were paid. And why are they not paid? There ought to be a law compelling the estates they administer to pay them, and handsomely. It never occurred to me before, but now I see the monstrous iniquity of amateur executors, amateur trustees, amateur guardians. They take business out of the hands of those who live by business. I sincerely regret my share in this injustice. If a snob works, he always expects to be paid! how much more a gentleman. He ought to be paid double--once for the work, and once for giving up his natural ease. Here am I, guardian gratis to a cub of sixteen--the worst age--done school, and not begun Oxford and governesses.” “Tutors, you mean.” “Do I? Is it the tutors the whelps fall in love with, little goose? Stop; I'll describe my 'interesting charge,' as the books call it. He has hair you could not tell from tow. He has no eyebrows--a little unfledged slippery horror. He used to come in to dessert, and turn all our stomachs except his silly father's.” “Poor orphan!” “When you speak to him he never answers--blushes instead.” “Poor child!” “He has read of eloquent blushes, and thinks there is no need to reply in words--blushing must be such an interesting and effective substitute.” “Poor boy, he wants a little judicious kindness. We will have him here.” “Here!” cried the old gentleman, with horror. “What! make Font Abbey a kennel!!! No, Lucy, no, this house is sacred; no nuisances admitted here. Here, on this single spot of earth, reigns comfort, and shall reign unruffled while I live. This is the temple of peace. If I must be worried, I must, but not beneath this hallowed roof.” This eloquence, delivered as it was with a sudden solemnity, told upon the mind.