On the morrow after his little concussion Sir Barnes Newcome came home,
not much hurt in body, but woefully afflicted in temper, and venting his
wrath upon everybody round about him in that strong language which he
employed when displeased; and under which his valet, his housekeeper, his
butler, his farm-bailiff, his lawyer, his doctor, his dishevelled mother
herself--who rose from her couch and her sal-volatile to fling herself
round her dear boy's knees--all had to suffer. Ethel Newcome, the
Baronet's sister, was the only person in his house to whom Sir Barnes did
not utter oaths or proffer rude speeches. He was afraid of offending her
or encountering that resolute spirit, and lapsed into a surly silence in
her presence. Indistinct maledictions growled about Sir Barnes's chair
when he beheld my wife's pony-carriage drive up; and he asked what
brought her here? But Ethel sternly told her brother that Mrs. Pendennis
came at her particular request, and asked him whether he supposed anybody
could come into that house for pleasure now, or for any other motive but
kindness? Upon which, Sir Barnes fairly burst out into tears,
intermingled with execrations against his enemies and his own fate, and
assertions that he was the most miserable beggar alive.
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