“The more shame to him,” returned Stephen. “If he’d been your husband, now, there might ha’ been more harm than good in interferin’, ’cause he’d only give it you the worse after; but brothers! Well, I’m sure it’s a pity I interfered.”
“I don’t see the difference,” she retorted, still with offence.
“I beg your pardon, then,” said Stephen. “I promise you I won’t interfere next time.”
So saying, he turned, took up his shutter, and proceeded to close his shop. The young woman walked on.
Stephen gave an inward growl or two at the depravity of human nature, and set out to make his usual visits; but before he reached the place, he had begun to doubt whether the old Adam had not overcome him in the matter of boxing the boy’s ears; and the following interviews appeared in consequence less satisfactory than usual. Disappointed with himself, he could not be so hopeful about others.
As he was descending a stair so narrow that it was only just possible for two people to pass, he met the same young woman ascending. Glad of the opportunity, he stepped aside with his best manners and said:
“I am sorry I offended you this evening. I did not know that the boy was your brother.”
“Oh, sir!” she returned—for to one in her position, Stephen Archer was a gentleman: had he not a shop of his own?—“you didn’t hurt him much; only I’m so anxious to save him.”
“To be sure,” returned Stephen, “that is the one thing needful.”
“Yes, sir,” she rejoined. “I try hard, but boys will be boys.”