ices, as young
men are represented doing in novels.

Inevitably Tom Robinson's recent intercourse with the family had been
confined to a formal call or two, awkward and unpleasant to all
concerned. Only Dr. Millar brought him into the conversation
occasionally, dealing with his name in the spirit of a faithful
partisan. "That good fellow Robinson did not draw out a farthing of his
deposit at the bank after disquieting rumours must have reached him.
Carey tells me that Robinson, in place of seeking to be reassured, did
his best to reassure him, Carey; told him never to mind him, he could
lie out of the money; he was willing to let others who had more need be
paid first. Ah! well, it is good to have it in your power to be both
just and generous, and it is still better to have a heart to use the
power. Robinson has acted handsomely throughout, in short, like the
gentleman he is. I wonder if his behaviour on this occasion will weigh
with snobs against the iniquity of his having a shop. I thought
Thackeray had done something to demolish similar rubbish when he
described the young cads who gave the schoolboy Dobbin the nickname
'Figs.'"

The speaker was guilty of glaring rather fiercely at his daughters,
assembled for afternoon tea. They became eminently innocent and
meek-looking on the instant, but when the sisterhood were left to
themselves Annie delivered her opinion with admirable fairness and
candour.

"I am sure I am glad that Tom Robinson should behave himself like a
gentleman, but that does not make his trade a profession fit for a
gentleman, neither does it render the man, with his lack of ambition and
his commonplaceness and dulness, an interesting specimen of humanity."

"Not a man that a woman would care to die for," said Rose, wrinkling her
forehead and crumpling up her nose till her face was half its natural
length. "Oh, I say, think of any woman being so infatuated as to be
willing to die for an insignificant, foxy-headed, well-bred shopkeeper!"

"Don't be slangy, Rose," Annie rebuked her sister.

"Still I am very glad," said Dora's soft voice quite distinctly, and
while she blushed furiously she reared her little neck with an
unconscious gesture. It said plainly, "Yes, I am glad that the man who
sought me for his wife has shown himself liberal and merciful, so that I
can always think of him and his wishes with respect and gratitude."

"And so am I glad," agreed May warmly. "It is so nice that 'Robinson