"Your father is like a child.
Eight hundred pounds a year!--eight hundred and eighty with the house,--with nothing to do.

The very place for him.

And to throw that up because some scoundrel writes an article in a newspaper! Well;--I have done my duty.

If he chooses to ruin his child I cannot help it;" and he stood still at the fire-place, and looked at himself in a dingy mirror which stood on the chimney-piece.
There was a pause for about a minute, and then the warden, finding that nothing else was coming, lighted his candle, and quietly said, "Good-night." "Good-night, papa," said the lady.
And so the warden retired; but, as he closed the door behind him, he heard the well-known ejaculation,--slower, lower, more solemn, more ponderous than ever,--"Good heavens!".