"When art starting?"

"To-night."

"That I knowed. But by what train?"

That was just what Mary wanted to know; but what apparently her
father was in no mood to tell. He got up without speaking, and went
upstairs. Mary knew from his step, and his way, how much he was put
out, and feared Job would see it too! But no! Job seemed
imperturbable. So much the better, and perhaps she could cover her
father's rudeness by her own civility to so kind a friend.

So, half-listening to her father's movements upstairs (passionate,
violent, restless motions they were), and half-attending to Job
Legh, she tried to pay him all due regard.

"When does thy father start, Mary?"

That plaguing question again.

"Oh! very soon. I'm just getting him a bit of supper. Is Margaret
very well?"

"Yes, she's well enough. She's meaning to go and keep Alice Wilson
company for an hour or so this evening: as soon as she thinks her
nephew will have started for Liverpool; for she fancies the old
woman will feel a bit lonesome. Th' Union is paying for your
father, I suppose?"