'Many people used to think once of getting my poor father out, but you don't know how hopeless it is.' She forgot to be shy at the moment, in honestly warning him away from the sunken wreck he had a dream of raising; and looked at him with eyes which assuredly, in association with her patient face, her fragile figure, her spare dress, and the wind and rain, did not turn him from his purpose of helping her.
'Even if it could be done,' said she--'and it never can be done now--where could father live, or how could he live?
I have often thought that if such a change could come, it might be anything but a service to him now.

People might not think so well of him outside as they do there.
He might not be so gently dealt with outside as he is there.

He might not be so fit himself for the life outside as he is for that.' Here for the first time she could not restrain her tears from falling; and the little thin hands he had watched when they were so busy, trembled as they clasped each other.
'It would be a new distress to him even to know that I earn a little money, and that Fanny earns a little money.

He is so anxious about us, you see, feeling helplessly shut up there.

Such a good, good father!' He let the little burst of feeling go by before he spoke.