Vincent's vexation was treated with merited indifference.
If, as often happened, after obtaining everything within its mother's reach, and breaking up everything that could be broken, "the baby" still cried immoderately and annoyingly, it was quite as much as Mr. Vincent's life was worth to express the least vexation or impatience.
He might be roused from a sound sleep, and forced to get up ten times in a night for something for "the baby," and yet a murmur or a natural wish expressed to know the necessity for all these things was treason to the household sovereignty.
The lawful master of the premises had sunk, like a deposed monarch, to utter insignificance, and became the lowest servant of the young usurper.
The mother was the grand visier of the little Sultana, and in her name ruled every one, herself included, with an iron rod. There was no law but the will and pleasure of the despot, and no appeal from her determinations.
And this was the woman that Abraham Glen had loved.