“No, father. The next begins, 'Then answered Bildad, the Shuite.'”
“Terminate,” said Mr. Marrapit. “Bildad is without.”
“He torments me. He is Bildad. Terminate. To your bed.”
She pressed a warm kiss upon Job's brow; took on her soft cheek the salute of his thin lips. “You have everything, dear father?”
“Prone on my couch I lack much. I am content. You are a good girl, Margaret.”
“Oh, father!” She tripped from the room in a warmth of satisfaction.
The rough head of Bildad the Shuite came round the door; spoke “Good night.”
“Approach,” said Job. Bildad's legs came over the mat. “You seek your room? But not your couch?”
“I'm going to bed, if that's what you mean,” George told him.
Mr. Marrapit groaned. “Spurn it. Shun sloth. In the midnight oil set the wick of knowledge. Burn it, trim it, tend it.”
George withdrew to his room; set the midnight pipe in his mouth; leaning from his window sped his thoughts to Battersea.
One member of the house remained to be sent to sleep. Mrs. Major put a soft knuckle to the door; came at the call; whispered “I thought I might disturb you.”
A little squeak sprung from the nutter in the masterly woman's heart.
“Oh, Mr. Marrapit, I can't bear to see you lying there. The”--she paused against an effort, then took the aspirate in a masterly rush--“the house is not the same without you.”
“Your sympathy is very consoling to me, Mrs. Major.”
“Oh, Mr. Marrapit!” She plunged a shaft that should try him: “I wish I had the right to give you more.”
“Your position in this house gives you free access to me, Mrs. Major. Regard your place as one of my own circle. Do not let deference stifle intercourse.”
The masterly woman hove a superb sigh. “If you knew how I feel your kindness, Mr. Marrapit. Truly, as I say to myself every night, fair is my lot and goodly is my--” Icy dismay took her. Was the missing word “hermitage” or “heritage”? With masterly decision she filled the blank with a telling choke; keyed her voice to a brilliant suggestion of brightness struggling with tears: “The sweetling cats are safely sleeping. I have come straight from them. Ah, how they miss you! How well they know you suffer!”
“They do?” A tremble of pleasure was in Mr. Marrapit's voice.
“They does--do.” Mrs. Major recited their day, gave their menu. “I must not tarry,” she concluded; “you need rest. Good night, Mr. Marrapit. Good night.”