father's health and his mother's health, and Mrs. Usher's health, which
was poor, and Mr. Usher's prospects, which were poorer, not to say bad.
He leaned on this point and returned to it, as if it might have a
possible bearing on the matter actually in hand, and with a certain
disagreeable effect of craftiness and intention. It was as if he wished
to rub it in that whatever else Randall forgot, he wasn't to forget
_that_, that he had nothing to look to, nothing to hope for in his
father-in-law's prospects; as if he, Mr. Usher, had arranged this
meeting at the "Bald-Faced Stag" for the express purpose of making that
clear, of forestalling all possible misunderstanding. He kept it before
him, with the cheese and beer, on the brown oil-cloth of the table from
which poor Randall found it increasingly difficult to lift his eyes.

It was almost a relief to him when Mr. Usher pushed his plate away with
a groan of satiety, and began.

"Well, what's all this I hear about Virelet?"

Randall intimated that he had heard all there was.

"Yes, but what's the meaning of it? That's what I want to know."

Randall put it that its meaning was that it had simply happened, and
suggested that his father-in-law was in every bit as good a position for
understanding it as he.

"I dare say. But what I'm trying to get at is--did you do anything to
make it happen?"

"What on earth do you suppose I did?"

"There might be faults on both sides, though I don't say as there were.
But did you do anything to prevent it? Tell me that."

"What could I do? I didn't know it was going to happen."

"You should have known. You was warned fair enough."

"Was I? Who warned me, I should like to know?"

"Why, I did, and her mother did. Told you straight. Don't you go for to
say that I let you marry the girl under false pretenses, or her mother
either. I told you what sort Virelet was, straight as I could, without
vilifying my own flesh and blood. Did you want me to tell you
straighter? Did you want me to put a name to it?"

His little eyes shot sidelong at Randall, out of his fallen, shrunken
fatness, more than ever crafty and intent.

He was pitiful. Randall could have been sorry for him but that he showed
himself so mean. His little eyes gave him so villainously away. They
disclosed the fullness of his knowledge; they said he had known things
about Violet; he had known them all the time, things that he, Randall,
never knew. And he hadn't let on, n