It was all the same old will-
shaking game and came practically to this, that Ernest was no good, and
that if he went on as he was going on now, he would probably have to go
about the streets begging without any shoes or stockings soon after he
had left school, or at any rate, college; and that he, Theobald, and
Christina were almost too good for this world altogether.
After he had written this Theobald felt quite good-natured, and sent to
the Mrs Thompson of the moment even more soup and wine than her usual not
illiberal allowance.
Ernest was deeply, passionately upset by his father's letter; to think
that even his dear aunt, the one person of his relations whom he really
loved, should have turned against him and thought badly of him after all.
This was the unkindest cut of all. In the hurry of her illness Miss
Pontifex, while thinking only of his welfare, had omitted to make such
small present mention of him as would have made his father's innuendoes
stingless; and her illness being infectious, she had not seen him after
its nature was known. I myself did not know of Theobald's letter, nor
think enough about my godson to guess what might easily be his state.
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