A man of finer observation would have discovered the signs of no
ordinary anxiety and alarm, struggling to show themselves openly in the
poor woman's face. Her husband only saw a change that puzzled him.
"Send for Emma," he said, his natural cunning inspiring him with the
idea of confronting the mother and daughter, and of seeing what came of
_that._ Emma appeared, plump and short, with large blue eyes, and full
pouting lips, and splendid yellow hair: otherwise, miserably pale,
languid in her movements, careless in her dress, sullen in her manner.
Out of health as her mother said, and as her father saw.

"You can see for yourself," said Mrs. Ronald, "that the girl is pining
for fresh air. I have heard Ramsgate recommended."

Old Ronald looked at his daughter. She represented the one tender place
in his nature. It was not a large place; but it did exist. And the
proof of it is, that he began to yield--with the worst possible grace.

"Well, we will see about it," he said.

"There is no time to be lost," Mrs. Ronald persisted. "I mean to take
her to Ramsgate tomorrow."

Mr. Ronald looked at his wife as a dog looks at the maddened sheep that
turns on him. "You mean?" repeated the stationer. "Upon my soul--what
next? You mean? Where is the money to come from? Answer me that."

Mrs. Ronald declined to be drawn into a conjugal dispute, in the
presence of her daughter. She took Emma's arm, and led her to the door.
There she stopped, and spoke. "I have already told you that the girl is
ill," she said to her husband. "And I now tell you again that she must