Мідлмарч

           "Noverygoodnews;butthenitmightbeworse."

           "Aboutmoney,father?IthinkIknowwhatitis."

           "Ay?howcanthatbe?Yousee,I’vebeenabitofafoolagain,andputmynametoabill,andnowitcomestopaying;andyourmotherhasgottopartwithhersavings,that’stheworstofit,andeventheywon’tquitemakethingseven.Wewantedahundredandtenpounds:yourmotherhasninety-two,andIhavenonetospareinthebank;andshethinksthatyouhavesomesavings."

           "Ohyes;Ihavemorethanfour-and-twentypounds.Ithoughtyouwouldcome,father,soIputitinmybag.See!beautifulwhitenotesandgold."

           Marytookoutthefoldedmoneyfromherreticuleandputitintoherfather’shand.

           "Well,buthow—weonlywanteighteen—here,puttherestback,child—buthowdidyouknowaboutit?"saidCaleb,who,inhisunconquerableindifferencetomoney,wasbeginningtobechieflyconcernedabouttherelationtheaffairmighthavetoMary’saffections.

           "Fredtoldmethismorning."

           "Ah!Didhecomeonpurpose?"

           "Yes,Ithinkso.Hewasagooddealdistressed."

           "I’mafraidFredisnottobetrusted,Mary,"saidthefather,withhesitatingtenderness."Hemeansbetterthanheacts,perhaps.ButIshouldthinkitapityforanybody’shappinesstobewrappedupinhim,andsowouldyourmother.