"Do you wish me to leave Parksides to-night? I will go and get ready." He glared at her. "Well, why don't you go?" "I am waiting for orders. Give them, and I will obey you--as I have obeyed you in everything else." "You have no more wish to leave me," he said, laughing scornfully, "than I have that you should. You could no more do without me than I could do without you." "There may be a balance," she said, "and it may be to my credit. You seem to be angry because I have made an endeavour to please your daughter." "Have you ever endeavoured to please her before to-day?" he asked slyly. "Have you," she retorted, "ever taken the trouble to ascertain?" He paused awhile before he spoke. "Having been imprisoned up here, out of sight of things, with no eyes for anything beyond this room, you may think I haven't known what is going on in my house. You are mistaken--egregiously mistaken--as mistaken as your son Jeremiah, who perhaps has an idea that I do not know when I am absent what is going on in my office in London." "Do you wish _him_ to leave as well as me?" said Mrs. Pamflett. The conspicuous and amazing feature of her speech was that she made these propositions as though they did not in the slightest degree affect her, or any person in whom she was interested. "With his talents for business, he will not have the least difficulty in obtaining a position of trust elsewhere." "I have unmasked you," said Miser Farebrother; "you have a design. Out with it." "I have no design," said Mrs. Pamflett, "except your interests; and if it happens that your interests and ours----" "And ours!" he cried. "And ours," she repeated. "If it happens that our interests are identical, it should rather please than anger you. You say that you are bound hand and foot to me. That is a compliment, and I am obliged to you; but supposing it to be true, I am as much bound hand and foot to you, and so is my son Jeremiah. It may be in your power to so chain him to you that he would become an absolute slave to your interests." "Interests again!" he exclaimed, impatiently. "Always interests--nothing but interests." "Well," said Mrs. Pamflett, "what do we live for? What do _you_ live for?" This was a home thrust indeed, and Miser Farebrother accepted it in good part. Despite the outward aspect of this singular conversation, it was not entirely disagreeable to him. He appreciated the services of Mrs. Pamflett and her son; he knew that he could not replace them; he had not left it to the present hour to reckon up their monetary value. "To come back to Phoebe," he said; "what is all this about? No beating about the bush--plain speaking." "I love her," said Mrs. Pamflett, "as a daughter." "And Jeremiah is your only son?" "My only son. The best, the brightest, the cleverest man in England! And devoted to you, body and soul." "I am infinitely obliged to you," said Miser Farebrother, with a malicious grin; "I will think about it." CHAPTER XIX.