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Wives & Housewives ...a story for the times (Victorian Novel)

 

"l Give us wealthy and the home shall exist! But that is a

very imperfect and inglorious solution of the problem, and

therefore no solution. 'Give us wealth! You ask too much.

Few have wealth; but all must have a home. Men are not

born rich; and in getting wealth the man is generally sacrificed,

and often is sacrificed without acquiring wealth at last  

"I think it plain that this voice of communities and ages,

' Give us wealth, and the good household shall exist,' is vicious,

and leaves the whole difficulty untouched. It is better, certainly,

in this form, ' Give us your labour, and the household begins.'"

Emerson.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER I.

 

V dear, I- think we really must give a dance

next month. Lily has been to a dozen parties

at least, and we have not returned one."

 

"A ball, and a grand dinner A la Russe

next week. I shall be ruined!"

 

"Now, Fred, it's senseless to talk like that.

Can we with any propriety go out and not ask people

back?"

 

"Well, I suppose not: but I know inviting me out to

dinner is like asking a postman to take a long walk. I am

tired of cold cod, greasy mutton, and insipid entries."

"Indeed! you are becoming vastly particular!"

"Not at all I am always satisfied with a chop or cutlet

at my own table; but when I come home worn and wearied

from the City, I fail to find the pleasure of dressing and

driving, often a long distance, in order to eat a bad dinner

and drink wine which unfits me for work the next day."

 

"But how are we to keep up our circle if we do not go

out? "

 

"Well, possibly we might judiciously narrow that circle."

"Oh, really," pettishly responded Mrs. Williams,"one is 

to give up one's friends and one's life's work, just as it is be-

ginning to bear fruit, because you are sleepy in the evening."

"You are unjust, Anne. I wish to give up no real friend,

but only some of the acquaintances, and for whom I, at least,

do not care. I have told you often of late that things are very bad

in the City, and we spend too much money."

 

"I never in my life said I wished to do anything requiring

your assistance that you did not try to make me miserable.

I do not hear other people complain of bad times: and it must

be only stinginess which causes you to raise such objections

when I am simply asking for what is needful to keep up

our proper appearance for the sake of the children."

 

"There, there," replied the vanquished husband, "don't

worry me ; do as you like, only let the affair be as little

expense as possible/'

 

"Of course I shall be careful about that; but Lily wants

a new dress or two, and some other trifles. Will you write

me a cheque?"

 

"For how much?"

I cannot make less than fifty pounds do."

It is quite impossible to give you so much now," he continued,

with a sort of groan; "it is only ten days since you

had a hundred for dress. You must make twenty do."

 

"Well, if I must, I must; but what are twenty pounds for

two or three dresses and an opera cloak, and no end of

little things. I feel anxious Lily should look her best, for I

fancy Arthur Arkroyd is thinking of her."

 

"You don't say so ! I hope you are mistaken."

 

"And why, pray?"

 

"He will expect a fortune with her, and I cannot give

her anything."

 

"All you will have to do will be to inquire into Ms

means. If he asks you anything about yours, say what

you have to give will be left in your will"

 

"I am not sure but that it would be raising false expectations.

I often wish, Anne, we had never left the Terrace, but had

lived quietly there till this day. If we had done so, I should

have been a rich man now, and been able to give Lily and

the other girls fortunes on their marriage."

 

"Nonsense! They have now a position in life they never could

have attained had we continued to live in that narrow style.

 

"A style far beyond what was necessary for our parents;

rather beyond, too, that in which your brother has grown

rich, and in which I certainly found more -comfort and

happiness than that in which we now live."

 

Mrs. Williams sighed and said, "I have devoted all my

energies, continually making great sacrifices of my own

ease, towards maintaining a position equal to our neighbours,

and this is all the reward I get!"

 

"If I blame you," Mr. Williams said, wearily, "I blame

myself still more that I did not check the small beginnings.

However, let us do what we can to moderate expenses

now." So saying, he handed his wife the cheque, and she

went to her daughter, whom she found in the morning-room

intent on a novel.

 

"Now, Lily," she said, "I have coaxed papa to give the

ball, and got a little cheque; so we will go into town at once

and get your dresses."

 

"All right, mother. Cook has just been up for orders.

I told her to have something nice for our dinner, and give

the schoolroom the cold mutton."

 

"Dear me! I shall have Miss Smith grumbling again;

they have had cold meat all the week, I think."

 

"How tiresome of her! I am sure it's very nice with

pickles. I remarked to. cook we had not had salmon for

ages, and wasn't it in now? and she laughed, and said

perhaps I would like lamb too!"

 

"Well, dear, one would be almost as costly as the other

in January, and papa has just been grumbling so at expenses

and the bad times, that we must only have such luxuries when

we have company. There, run and get dressed, and we will

give the order at Roux for the dinner next week.

I mean it all to be well done, just to show those Newmans

we can manage and la Russe as well as they.

I shall let Roux do the thing entirely; it will be cheaper in the end."

 

"And save all the trouble," chimed in Lily, in a very

preoccupied tone of voice.

 

"Come, come, said Mrs. Williams, "the morning is

slipping away, and you are not dressing to go out."

 

"Do sit down a minute, mother. I have something very

particular to tell you. You know Mr. Arkroyd took me

down to supper last night, and among other things he asked

me, could I live on five hundred a-year? "

 

"And what did you say?"

 

"That I had no notion; that I supposed it was awfully

little; and he said he was frightened, and afraid I was

extravagant I did not wish him to think that, you know,

because "

 

"You like him, child."

 

" Well, yes, mother; very much. I think he is awfully

nice. And, of course, if other people could live on five

hundred a-year, we could. He is coming in to talk to you

and papa to-night ; and please mind, I would marry him if

he/had only five hundred shillings in the world!"

 

"I think, my dear, it is well you have parents inclined to

be less romantic, and who certainly will not see you sacri-

ficed. Five hundred a-year may seem a large sum to you,

but in these days it is really a small income."

 

"Oh, mother, do not be dreadful. I do not care for

riches, and I know Arthur would make me happy."

 

"Well, well, we shall hear what papa says."

 

Arthur Arkroyd was very much in love with pretty Lilian

Williams, and when he formally proposed for her that

evening, hesitated only just a little as he mentioned the

limit of his income. A faint sigh escaped him when Mr.

Williams said, "I cannot give her anything; she will share

what I leave with the others." He loved the girl so well

as to be glad to take her on any terms. But as, from the

style in which Mr. Williams lived, he had been led to infer

he would give his daughters some marriage -portion, he

naturally felt disappointed. "It would have been well," Mr.

Arkroyd said to himself, "if Lily could have had a yearly

allowance that would cover her personal expenses;" but

this he was too generous to urge on Mr. Williams; and the

interview with him over, he went to Lily in the drawing-

room, and claimed her for his very own.

 

"Only one thing troubles me, my dear," said the young

lover. " We shall have to live much less luxuriously than

you do in your father's house: I am afraid our income will

not afford many of these elegant dresses," and he lightly

touched the expensive dress Lily wore that evening for his

especial behoof.

 

"As to that," she replied, "of course, I shall have a

handsome trousseau, which will last for years. Besides,

when married, one ought not to care for dress."

 

"I should like to see you always nicely dressed, as you

ought to be. I am only anxious lest you should find your-

self unable to live and dress as the wife of a gentleman on

our moderate, if not, as times go, small income."

 

"Why should I not, sir?" she asked, with a pretty pout

"Several girls I know have gone from the grand homes of

rich fathers, and been very happy and contented in a tiny

nest of their own. I see no reason why I should fail to

manage well on moderate means."

 

"Then I will not worry myself any more on that subject,"

replied Mr. Arkroyd; and thenceforward if any doubt arose

in his mind, he treated it as unreasonable, and forbore to

trouble Lily with any further reference to ways or means.

  

CHAPTER II.

 

Have heard some news to-day, my dear," said

Mrs. Heath to her husband.

"Good, I hope."

 

"Yes, it appears so. Our niece Lily is just

engaged to Mr. Arthur Arkroyd!"

"Indeed! I am very glad. He is a worthy

young fellow, and I shall be happy to receive him as one

of the family. How did you hear this?"

 

"Sister Williams came over this morning and told me all

about it. I did not say it to her, but I am afraid the income

the young people propose to many on is but small — five

hundred a-year, she said."

 

"Well, but why do you think it small when you are

willing for our Janet to marry on three hundred and fifty?"

 

"Yes, but see how differently the girls have been brought

up. Lily knows nothing of housekeeping and has most

extravagant notions, whilst Janet is, for her age, quite an

adept, and prudence itself. I am afraid our brother will not

give Lily any fortune, and," added Mrs. Heath, with

motherly satisfaction, "what a comfort it is you are able to

say you will not allow Janet to go to Mr. Fenton empty-

handed."

 

"Yes, I am very thankful to give her something; but she

owes it to her mother. Without your constant help, old

lady, without your unselfish advice, your unceasing self-

denial, I should not now have been able to provide for all

the children, and for the old age I pray God to grant us

together."

 

"Amen, my love, and thank you ; but it is not fair to

give me the praise. There has, in all things, been but one

heart between us, and, working thus lovingly together, we

have prospered."

 

Soon after this conversation with her husband, Mrs.

Heath explained to her daughter the arrangement which

had been made for her benefit: that fifty pounds a-year

was secured to her separate use, together with her husband's

life policies and some trifle of property. "

 

"It is all very kind and very wise," Janet had replied.

"I suppose one ought to be glad to owe everything to a

husband, yet I must confess it makes me happy to think I

shall take him something. But I really do believe that he

is more indifferent in this matter than myself"

 

Janet was to be married as soon as a suitable residence

could be found and furnished, and at length one was secured,

a convenient though not large villa at Highgate, pleasantly

situated, quiet and healthy, and having a very nice little

garden. Mrs. Heath undertook to assist in its arrangement,

which was a great relief to Mr. Fenton, who was working

very hard that he might be enabled to take a leisurely

holiday on his marriage. Both he and Janet had earnestly

pleaded for a simple wedding, and, having regard to their

wish; as well as that it seemed a fitting prelude to the quiet

life the young people intended to lead for some years at

least, the parents readily consented. "And you know,

papa?' said Mrs. Heath to her husband, "it will cost so

little, having everything done thus quietly, that I think we

may afford Janet an additional present. I should be so

delighted to fit up the kitchen, and give her in it all the

comforts she has been used to at home — all the little

machines and appliances which save so much labour and

expense, and are especially invaluable where but one servant

is kept. May I do it? "

 

"Of course you may, mother; and, if you please, cannot

you afford something from father ? "

 

"Oh yes, my dear; I have been sighing all along to put

up a patent gas-cooking range."

 

"Warranted, no doubt, to cook without assistance!"

  

"Well, I know of one which might almost be so warranted

As it is economical a» well as efficient, I know we shall

make an acceptable present."

 

"I must leave the selection to you, my dear, as being

more skilled in these economies, only with this proviso, that

you do not let them influence you in the price of the range;

let it be the very best to be had for money."

 

"I shall certainly remember your injunction — do not be

alarmed, but I never in my life felt so tempted to be extra-

vagant as about my Jenny's kitchen. I think I feel like a

child fitting up her doll's house."

 

With Mrs. Heath our story will have little to do, but as

the mother of one of our heroines, she claims a brief,

description; the more so, as it will be seen from it how

much the daughter owed to the training and example of her

mother.

 

In her younger days Mrs. Heath had been very bonnie

and graceful, and with advancing years retained the bright-

ness which is born of sweet temper and a cultivated mind.

Although in all her words and movements there was a

quietness amounting to gravity, as of one who through life

had been earnest in her duty, she had such a fund of

humour, and such large-hearted sympathy with all who

were in any kind of trouble, this quietness added to her

charms. We have seen how her husband looked upon

her. By her children she was ardently loved, and by her

friends regarded as the very model of an English matron

the ideal of a perfect wife and mother. From the earliest

days of her married life, Mrs. Heath had found all her

pleasure to consist in making her home happy. To be

sure, in her young days, change of scene, frequent visiting

and parties were not deemed essential to the health and

happiness of the middle-class wife. The bringing up of

children was not delegated to ignorant, careless nursemaids,

but was the first duty and delight of mothers. Neither in  

her day were children looked upon as burdens, or a woman

pitied because of the cares of her large family. Happiness

was then found in these cares, and peace of mind in the

performance of the blessed duties of maternity — duties laid

upon woman by Providence and nature, and which she

may not seek to abrogate without ill consequences to all

her race.

 

Supported by the confidence of her husband, Mrs. Heath

ever thoughtfully regulated her conduct in accordance with

his position. "Simplicity" had been her watchword. It

saved her from being carried away by the fashion of the

hour or any of the showy examples around her. In this

quiet though graceful simplicity of life and manners she

educated all her children. The boys, of course, had to be

sent to school; but she never parted from her girls. Over

their health, happiness, and education she ever watched

with the most loving and thoughtful solicitude. Whilst to

the cultivation of her daughters' minds due care was given,

from an early age they were instructed in every detail of

household management, and each day spent several hours

in the kitchen, not only watching their mother and the

cook, but assisting them in everything.

 

Mrs. Heath never kept expensive servants, "who knew

their business too well to be interfered with, and could not

allow the mistress to come in the kitchen;" but only such

as were cleanly, teachable, and honest; content with fair

wages and the confidence and esteem of their employers;

and she contended that, spite of the outcry against their

class, there were still good servants to be found, and that it

was leaving them to themselves and mismanagement which

had ruined so many.

 

It must not be supposed that Mrs. Heath had passed so

far through life without encountering trials and difficulties;

but she had met the first with the fortitude which true reli-

gion always gives, and the last with quiet philosophy, always

abiding by the rule to make no troubles, and the best of

those which existed. And now there had settled on her

spirit a deep and blessed calm. Her loving children no

longer required anxious attention, but were able to share

with her all the cares of domestic life, and she sat down

under her own vine and fig-tree, with a thankful sense that

the time of repose was come, and that though that of action

had been happy, this was her full recompense and reward.

 

We will not pause to enter into details respecting Janet's

modest but happy wedding. It was remarkable chiefly for

the absence of all show and pretension, of borrowed epergnes

and hired waiters; yet was more truly graced by kind friends

and the sweet faces of the daughters of the house, whose

hands alone had prepared the bridal feast and the incom-

parable cake, and decked the table with the brightest flowers

and happiest taste.

 

"It's the old, old story, my mother," wrote Janet, from

their honeymoon retreat in Devonshire; "l am so happy,

and we both are truly enjoying our holiday; and yet we feel

we shall be glad to settle down m the home you have made

so bright for us." And bright it truly was for the bride's

return; all the little finishing touches given with loving

care by mother and sisters; everything in the house being

substantial and new, and as likely to last a lifetime as any-

thing now warranted by a modern upholsterer. Janet's

pleasure in all was complete; but it was in her kitchen,

"the seat of household comfort," that she was most proud

and satisfied. "To think," she said, "of my darling mother

spoiling me like this, and promoting me to all the advan-

tages of an old housekeeper; whatever can I do to repay

her?"

 

"Enjoy her gifts," her husband sensibly suggested.

 

"Let her see the good use I will make of them, I know

you ought to have said," she replied.

 

The fashion of "no cards" had not at this time set in, so

Janet had to receive her visitors on a fixed day. Aunt

Williams was very much scandalised by the way Janet's

wedding had been managed; "just as if," she said, "they

had not a penny to spare, or were ashamed of the con-

nection," and hoped, "that at least they would know how to

behave on this occasion ; and as it would cost nothing, that

they would let her send her parlour- maid, who was used to

showing in and announcing company." But Janet, at the

risk of giving further offence, with many thanks declined the

offer, saying her own maid thought she could manage ; " for,"

she said to her husband, "I should feel embarrassed in

affecting a style of appearance we cannot keep up ; and,

besides, it will be best that all who come should understand

that we mean to live quietly and humbly, and that we can

only choose for friends those who approve of our manner

of life."

 

"I am very glad," he answered, "that my little woman is

not unreasonably anxious to propitiate Mrs. Grundy; but I

am afraid Mrs. Williams will think we ought to have accepted

her splendid attendant."

 

"And have bewildered my Sarah by her magnificence, and

perhaps have turned her head by descriptions of the way

her family do things."

 

It was a great relief to Janet when this formality was over,

and she was able to settle down and put her housekeeping

matters in the groove her mind had prepared, and she found

much to occupy her from the first day of her coming home.

Sarah, the servant she had chosen, was a strong, willing

damsel, passionately addicted to scrubbing, but somewhat

averse to giving attention to the minutiae of cooking, and

Mrs. Fenton found she would require much patient super-

vision; however, having good hope that the root of the

matter was in her, she determined to give it. Of course to

do this effectually she had to devote much time, and so

rapidly did it fly, and so short did the days seem, that when

sometimes her husband inquired in the evening, if she "had

not been dull all that long day?" she would laughingly declare

she "had not had time to miss him."

 

To the habit of early rising the Fentons strictly adhered;

the maid was always called at half-past five o'clock, and they

rose soon after. At seven in the summer, and half-past

in the winter, they breakfasted. Then Mr. Fenton having

enjoyed the cosy little meal, for which Janet always had

some substantial delicacy prepared by herself — because her

husband would only snatch a hasty mid-day meal in the

City, and she doubted much whether it was always whole-

some — left her for the day, and she went to market before

commencing what she called her "kitchen fancy-work."

Janet always found that she was better served, and at a more

moderate rate, than if orders were given; and by going early

things were sent in when the people went their first rounds

to call for orders at most other houses, and thus she had

everything in good time which she required for her morning's

work. Bread, cakes, pastry, potted meats, and every kind of

preserve were made by her own hands, and something nice

always as carefully provided for supper as for breakfast,

because her husband shared it with her. Nor did she forget

the claims of the poor upon them, for although she had little

money to spare, she had regular pensioners, recommended

to her by the clergy of her parish, for whom she was

constantly able, by judicious management and economy, to

provide nourishing meals, and that from materials which in

too many houses are allowed to waste or are carelessly

thrown aside.

 

At one o'clock came the simple, but substantial, dinner,

and thus the afternoon was generally disengaged for needle-

work, reading, letters, and visits. And the evening-time,

how happy it always was! Janet waiting with open arms for

her husband; the house so faultlessly neat; the table spread,

with everything on it as bright as if there were a pantry woman

and plate-cleaner kept, and the maid as trim, in spotless cap

and apron, as if she did nothing but wait upstairs; and

Janet threw aside then every occupation she could not share

with her husband. Sometimes she helped in the garden,

and planned little improvements, fowl-houses and so on;

and when, as it sometimes happened, Mr. Fenton proudly

brought a friend home, entertained them by singing her

sweet little songs, or by her lively and sensible conversation.

Of course this is but a sketch of the ordinary routine of

Mrs. Fenton's life; it was varied by the occasional visits of

friends, and now and then she spent a day out, or dined "at

home," as she still affectionately called her father's house,

but she was so attentive to her household duties as to

render much visiting impossible.

 

There were not wanting those who, on this account,

thought she failed in her duty to society. Mrs. Williams

especially, blamed her, even saying "she set a bad example,

for other men would be expecting their young wives to

make drudges of themselves, as she did. But Janet had

well weighed her line of conduct. Before her marriage she

foresaw its propriety and necessity, and now that she was

convinced it conduced not only to her husband's, but her

own happiness, she, whilst giving due attention to the

advice and opinion of others, resolutely held on her way,

feeling, too, that there was an elder and holier authority

even than her mother's for this conduct of young matrons,

for had not St. Paul admonished such to be keepers at

home; and was it not written in Solomon's sublime praises

of good women, "She looketh well to the ways of her

household"?

 

CHAPTER III.

 

Janat had been married about six months, when

one evening Mr. Fenton brought news of having

met Miss Williams and Mr. Arkroyd, and of

having invited the former to spend the day with

his wife, and the latter to dine and take his

fiance home in the evening.

 

Janet was very happy to see her cousin, though

they had never been very intimate; for whilst the education

of the one had been completed at home, that of the other

had been "entirely received," as her mother was wont proudly

to say, "at the first schools in London and Paris," so that,

as girls, it was only during the holidays they ever met, and

then the immense difference in their tastes and pursuits

interposed a natural barrier to anything like close friendship.

Still, on Janet's part, there was a kindly, cousinly feeling,

which was almost affection towards Lily, who, however, was

prompted to this visit by no other motive than "to see what

sort of a muddle the Fentons lived in with one servant"

 

"Well, then, Janet," said Lily, as they sat chatting, "on

the whole you can recommend the married state, and assure

me that at least I do not risk happiness by entering it"

 

"Certainly," she answered, "so far as my own experience

goes, I can strongly recommend it; but I do not see how I

can give you the assurance you ask."

"Why?"

 

"Ah, it is asking me to enter on a long subject. First,

before I could even form an opinion, I must know how far

you and Mr, Arkroyd are suited to each other; whether

your views and tastes accord, whether you are prepared to

give mutual forbearance, and whether love has been founded

on the rock of esteem,' and last, though not least, I should

want a catalogue of your own domestic virtues and power

of household management."

 

"I think," replied Lily, "Arthur and I are fairly well

suited as to mind and temper. Certainly, we dearly love

each other. But, Janet, I never could live the life you do;

and if my happiness is to depend on following your ex-

ample, I am afraid there is small chance of it"

 

"I did not mean to insinuate that you should follow my

example; circumstances vary so much that no two persons

can order their lives just alike."

 

"No, but generally, I mean. I could not, for instance,

spend my mornings in teaching a servant her duties. I

could not give up balls and parties and the opera."

 

"There would be no need to do so if your husband's

means permit indulgence in such pleasures."

 

"But, Janet, do you mean to say your husband's income

obliges you to live as you do?"

 

"Yes," she replied, smiling, "I think it does."

 

"Then it's dreadful; and do you not fret at such bondage?"

 

Janet laughed outright now, and said, "I assure you, on

the contrary, I hug my chains."

 

"Seriously, though, do you not long to go out more?"

 

"I cannot say that I do. Still, I really enjoy the pleasures

of conversation and intercourse with cultivated minds;

and we have these in a quiet way."

 

"In a very quiet way, it seems. Does not Mr. Fenton

complain of the dull evenings?"

 

"That would be very uncomplimentary to me, Lily, and

he certainly never has done so."

 

"But can you not see, or do you not suspect, that he's

bored?"

 

"Really, no; he always seems to be thoroughly happy

and content. You see, it is my whole aim to render him

so.

 

"Yes, indeed, I see that; and I shall think Arthur dread-

fully exacting if he expects me to give up everything as you

have done."

 

Lily said this rather pettishly, and Janet, wishing to influ-

ence her, replied, very gently, though seriously:

 

"But believe me, dear Lily, I am not conscious of having

given up anything, nor have I been required to do so. Our

income is small, and in order to be able to meet contin-

gencies, we find it necessary to live very quietly. Charles

has never at any time suggested to me how I should order

my way of life, and I know moreover, if I thought it prudent

and wished it, he would be delighted to take me out; and

I think from even the little I know of Mr. Arkroyd, he also

will make his wife's pleasure his own."

 

"That's different, Janet You make your husband's plea-

sure yours. You said so; and it seems to me you quite

spoil him, and in doing so forget you have a duty besides

that to him, and one which surely ought to be considered.

I mean a duty to society." .

 

"One's duty to society," said Janet, thoughtfully, "is to

be a good wife, and mother, if God wills, a true and ready

friend, and in all things to set a good example."

 

"Well, yes; but you look at everything so gravely, Janet.

Is it not also a duty to society to visit and correspond with

one's friends, and to live suitably to the station in which one

has been brought up?"

 

"Of course one must. visit one's friends, provided we do

not let it generate into gadding; but living suitably to

one's station seems to me living within one's means; really

the present fashion of living so much beyond them looks

like infatuation. For myself, all I try to do is to incur

no expenses but those I am quite sure we shall be able

to meet."

 

"Why," said Lily, again, with some petulance, "if one

is never to go out because of the expense, one is worse

off than a grocer's wife, who can ride in an omnibus, and

go to the pit of the theatre."

 

"I agree with you that it is a pity we have all grown

so extra 'genteel' that many things which were thought

good enough for our parents, or, certainly, grandparents, are

impossibly vulgar for us, and that so the mere keeping

up of appearances is a most serious item in our expendi-

ture, and obliges us often to forego a pleasure rather than

indulge in it in a quiet way."

 

"Janet, you make me wish I had not consented to be

narried to Arthur. I shall ruin him, if all you say is true.

I cannot live a humdrum life."

 

"Dear Lily, do not say so. You said you truly loved

him, and affection will make it easy to give up everything

contrary to his interest, which is, of course, your own."

 

"If I give up a great deal, visiting and the opera, I

cannot do with one servant, or go to bed at ten o'clock, or

get up at unearthly hours, as you do. Neither can I cook,

nor, indeed, sew much."

 

"I am afraid I must tell you," said Janet, "that if you

wish to go on smoothly, you will find it needful to do all

these things. But it is my conviction that the greatest

effort required is to make up your' mind to it"

 

"Ah! you don't know me. I must have a certain lady-

like entourage, or I cannot be happy. I am sure, having

been used to a carriage at home, I cannot do without a

hired brougham whenever I reasonably require one."

 

"That would not be often. Our reasonable requirements

are limited in most things, and very much so in the matter

of broughams. I have not used one since I married."

 

"What, not to return your calls?"

 

"No; people who would require me to incur needless

expense on their account would not be worth knowing.

I found a cab occasionally quite as much as I could

afford."

 

"You certainly must, Janet, be the strongest-minded

woman ever born."

 

"If it is strength of mind which enables me to do my

duty as far as I see it, it is a comfort to me to possess it

But tell me, Lily, and then we will change the subject,

should I not be both foolish and wicked to spend more

money than Charles gives me, or rather, as I could not do

that, incur debts; and do you not think it right, even at the

cost of some little effort of self-denial, to save something

against a time of sickness or trouble?"

 

"Oh, yes, most wonderful cousin; only do not expect

me to do it."

 

Miss Williams was much surprised to find her cousin

sitting with ladylike ease, chatting and sewing through the

afternoon. She fully expected Janet would be fidgeting in

and out of the room to look after the cooking, and as she

did not do so, settled in her own mind that the dinner

would consist of a leg of mutton with cindery gravy, and an

underdone apple-pudding; Lily's astonishment was there-

fore proportionate when seated at the table, laid with glass

and silver faultlessly bright, there came first a delicious

Palestine soup with croutons, fried to perfection, and a pair

of soles au gratin. Sarah's face had on it a look of concen-

trated attention and satisfaction, and, unless let into the

secret, nobody would have supposed that the cleanly, neat-

handed maiden was one who in too many houses is " the

slavey" — a girl of all work. When she had handed the

plates she vanished, and the little party, in the interval

of the next course, found it easy to assist themselves, as

everything they would require was on the table or within

Mrs. Fenton's reach.

 

There followed the fish, stewed beef — a delicate, dainty-

looking morsel as tender as chicken, and having sinews

melting like jelly in the mouth. It was enriched by its own

well-prepared gravy, and garnished with the vegetable with

which it had been stewed ; and beside this, a fowl stuffed

with some delicious and mysterious compound of pork and

shalot, and covered with a white sauce. This course re-

moved, pretty little tartlets, a lemon pudding, and cold

souffle followed; everything, as Lily said, was perfection,

slily hinting at "good pastrycooks in the neighbourhood."

Mr. Fenton soon disabused her mind of that idea; where-

upon Mr. Arkroyd refused to believe the servant who waited

on them could have cooked the dinner, unless, indeed, she

had had the help of fairies. Mr. Fenton declared he knew

of but one, and her name was "Management"

 

When the ladies were for a brief time, alone Lily ex-

claimed, "Oh, Janet, what a wonderful person you are!

Fancy getting such a dinner cooked by that young girl —

how did you manage?"

 

"It was easy enough, my dear; but I think the secret of

it was that Sarah had very little indeed to do, except mind

the things did not boil or burn, for all were prepared

for her before your arrival, and you see there could be no

great difficulty in taking up as each dish was prepared in

its own sauce. The soup was partly made yesterday, and

everything we required sent in last night, except the fish,

which was very quickly prepared, and all Sarah had to do

was to bake it for half-an-hour. Then the beef was put on

at eight o'clock this morning, with a sufficient quantity of

vegetables, and enough weak stock to cover it You know

it was just the shin, and though the most delicious part for

stewing, requires cooking long and slowly; it was sufficiently

done at twelve o'clock to allow me to skim and thicken the

gravy and add a little soy, which was all the additional flavour

it had. The beef was then returned to its gravy, and allowed

to keep just warm till dinner-time, when it simmered for

half-an-hour. The vegetables had been put aside in a little

stewpan by themselves, and just before dinner were allowed

to get hot, and they garnished the dish. As to 'the triumphant

fowl,' as you call it, it was stuffed and ready for

stewing before I left the kitchen, and the white onion sauce

you so much admired also in its stewpan, so Sarah would

have been a goose to have spoiled anything."

 

"But the pastry and sweets, Janet, did you make them?"

 

"Those weighty trifles I compounded yesterday, except

the pudding, which Sarah had to boil, and I could see by

the satisfied expression of her face as she set it on the table

that she thought the turning out did her credit."

 

"It was a delicious pudding ; but, Janet, it seems to me

you economise in some things only to be extravagant in

others. That dinner must have cost a great deal."

 

" Less, I assure you, than a plain joint of beef. Suppos-

ing I tell you how much: the soup cost ninepence; the

soles, a shilling; the beef, one and eightpence; the fowl

Charles brought me from the market, two shillings and

ninepence; and vegetables and other sundries would cer-

tainly not come to a shilling."

 

"But the pudding, Janet; it must have taken a quantity

of lemons."

 

"Only one, and I can make it for sixpence. Ah! I see

you are going to catch me about the souffle, and I admit

that is a slight extravagance — it actually took four eggs, half

a pint of milk, a little strawberry jam, and a sponge-cake;

but Charlie is so fond of it and considers it such a chef-

d'oeuvre of mine, that I indulged myself — let me see — at the ex-

pense of tenpence. As to the pastry, that I always have in the

house, as Charles likes it, and will only eat it if home-made."

 

"You have gone so into facts and figures that I cannot

say there has been any magic, but I declare that our cook,

who has a kitchen-maid to help, never sends up anything

half as nice or as hot as your Sarah has done to-day ; and I

hear mamma say they are most extravagant, and that made

dishes are ruinous."

 

"That is a pity, because they make a nice change. I

 should find it very awkward to have joints frequently, besides

I do not approve of living too much on cold meat, or of

having it twice cooked very often."

 

"I shall be afraid when I am married to ask you to dinner,

Janet ; you would be so hard upon a failure."

 

"No, indeed, I should only be severe where no attempt

was made to do the best circumstances allowed; but, Lily,

you are going to become a famous housekeeper — to learn

everything that can make home happy."

 

Lily, however, only shook her head, and looked puzzled

and sad.

 

Meanwhile Mr. Arkroyd, trembling as he was on the

verge of matrimony, was glad to discuss his prospects

with Mr. Fenton, who having so recently made the venture

might be supposed to have some little experience.

 

"It's delightful, Fenton," said Mr. Arkroyd, "to see you

so happy and comfortable, with such a bright, cozy, habi-

tation, and such a presiding genius as your wife."

 

"I assure you that if it is delightful to witness, the ex-

perience is infinitely more delightful I sometimes think I

am the luckiest and happiest fellow alive."

 

"It is satisfactory to know you are not insensible to your

blessings. As a prospective member of the family I must

be allowed to say that while you have a most charming and

graceful companion, whose rare sweetness is enhanced by

good sense, you have at the same time been fortunate in

securing one whose home virtues are quite resplendent"

 

"Thank you; it is always agreeable to a husband to hear

his wife's praises. They find an echo in my heart ; but

nothing that can be said equals her merits or my apprecia-

tion of them; "and in a low tone he added, whilst he

inclined his head, "I often think, who am I that, above

others, such a treasure should be given to my keeping; but

I must hope, Arkroyd, that your own matrimonial venture

may be no less successful."

 

"Lily," he replied, "is all I, or any other man, could

wish ; but she has everything in domestic matters to learn,

and so I am a little anxious lest my income should be in-

sufficient. Living, nowadays, is enormously expensive.

 

"Yes, but you have more income than we, and with care

and economy will do very well."

 

"And if we can press that fairy of yours, Management,

into our service."

 

"At the same time try if you can find another willing

to join her, — my mother-in-law's famous handmaiden,

Simplicity."

 

On their way home, Mr. Arkroyd expatiated to Lily on

the perfect arrangement of her cousin's menage, and the

charming manner in which she had entertained them. "I

wonder, darling," he said, gently, "if we shall ever get on

as well?"

 

"Janet is a drudge," replied Lily, sharply. " I hope you

do not expect me to be one?"

 

"Mrs. Fenton does not give me the idea of a drudge,

my dear. On the contrary, she looked at the head of the

table every inch the lady. I think she is a most charming

person."

 

"Did you notice her hands, pray I"

 

"They were neither so pretty nor so white as yours, love;

but although one could see they had been serviceable to

their owner, by their cleanliness and well-trimmed nails they

fulfilled all ladylike conditions."

 

"Are you aware that she cooked the dinner?"

 

"It did her infinite credit"

 

"Oh, I have no patience ! If you want a cook and house-

keeper you can engage one at a moderate rate, and she will

make it her interest to feed you properly. On the whole, it

would be cheaper and less trouble than a wife. It is not too

late to alter your mind, you know."

 

"It is too late, my Lily," he said, tenderly, "because life

without you can never be happy to me. I would not change

you for the most perfect housekeeper the world ever pro-

duced."

 

"Well, then, don't preach Mrs. Fenton to me any more,

because it only annoys me. I shall never be like her, nor

do as she does ; it is not in me."

 

No one, having heard this, can say that Mr. Arkroyd

went blindfold to his fate. If men who, like him, having

only moderate incomes, have not the sense to see that women

without the knowledge of domestic affairs, or the wish to

devote themselves to them, will make unsuitable wives, they

must abide the inevitable consequence of wretched, mis-

managed, extravagant homes. If they for any reason prefer

either the girls who have been brought up in luxurious idle-

ness, or those whose whole aim is to attract them by a showy

style of dress, and who appear in public with no other mo-

tive, they ought not to expect that they will be other than

true to their training. It is equally as true that if a child is

trained up in the way she should go she will not depart from

it, as that she will not depart from the teaching which has

been false and vicious.

 

It is asserted in most things that a demand creates a

supply. Can it be that the taste of the men of this age de-

mands women for wives whose extravagant notions would go

far to ruin the majority? When a man of moderate means sees

a girl much abroad, constantly changing her dresses, always

attired in the best and latest fashion, with the daintiest kid

gloves and careless of soiling them, with broad ribbons and

long streamers, elegant feathers and expensive bonnets, not

to mention coils of false hair and much jewellery, he ought

at once to consider whether he will be able to afford such

things; whether it would not be impossible for the wearer

to give them up, and whether they are not the indications of

extravagant habits and inclinations. Or, if he thinks these

things merely used as baits to catch him or some other

husband, ought he not rather to recoil in disgust than be at-

tracted by them? If he thinks vanity so ruling a passion in a

woman that he excuses the errors into which it leads her, he

should at least be sure that it will be as strong after marriage

as before it, and consider if he can for life draw sufficiently,

either on his purse or his admiration, to satisfy the cravings

of such a passion. Of course neatness and propriety of dress

are necessary in every station, but the daughter of a trades-

man or merchant now requires to be dressed like a duchess ;

not only to have the richest materials, but to have them made

up by expensive dressmakers in extravagant style. We speak

within bounds when we say that even in our own recol-

lection, dresses thought good enough for "best" by girls

of this class are now worn in the morning, and that three

dresses at least are required where one used to be sufficient

It seems to us one need not look farther than this for

the cause of much domestic misery. If a woman's whole

soul is bent on her own adornment she becomes selfish,

exacting, and unwilling to give either time or interest to the

comfort of those to whom she is bound, and it is certain

also that so much pains about her appearance are not taken

for their pleasure, but that she must be much in public "to

show herself." Let it become known that men are tired of

all false glitter, that they can only be attracted by modest

worth and domestic virtue, and things will be altered, and

until then we can only say, like the veiled prophet, "Ye

would be dupes and victims — and ye are!"

 

CHAPTER IV.

 

Well, Mrs. Green, and so you've heard of a

situation for me?"

 

"Yes, my dear; and you go and give your

warning this very night, for you're wanted

within the month."

 

"It's certain then, mum, that I shall be

wanted? for the amiable lady I've now the

pleasure to serve is so fond of me, she won't spare me one

minute before my time.

 

"You must wheedle her; or, if you can't do that, give a

month's wages."

"Will that pay?"

 

With a wink, the presiding genius of the register-office

said, "Lucy Tomkins, I've provided for that; I've looked

you out as the most favoured competitor for the prize of a

young, inexperienced, new-married lady."

 

"My month's wage is gone, Mrs. Green; lors, what luck !

What's the figger?"

 

"That's your look out; she'll give anything, her ma says,

in reason, to a steady, careful cook."

"That's what I am, and no mistake."

"Her ma's a regular customer of mine, as good as an

annuity; has two or three cooks every year, three or four

housemaids, and small fry without number."

 

"Can't put up, then, the old party, with the ways of

modern domestics. I say, Mrs. Green, won't she be putting

the young one up to a thing or two?"

 

"My dear, Mrs. Williams is a jewel; never goes in the

kitchen, don't object to anything reasonable, only requires

a good cook, who has the ability to study her own interests

unobtrusively; but you know I could not live if I let her

keep all my best girls."

 

"Oh, you're a artful one, Mrs. Green, that's what you

are."

 

"Not so green as my name, my dear, that's all: but I

must say Lucy Tomkins might take and wear it as a motto."

 

"Oh, yes ! Lucy is verdant when it suits her. But, to

return to business : how many's kept, and what sort?'*

 

"Experienced housemaid only at first."

 

"I must have a suitable mate, mind."

 

"I've looked you out a girl after your own heart, who will

work with you day and night. You know Emma Fair-

weather ? "

 

"Jolly old Emma? She'll do."

 

"All right ; she's engaged rather low, fourteen pounds, but

her last place was backward in coming forward to give her

testimonials, and I had to say the lady was annoyed at

losing a valuable servant"

 

"If that's a cause for crusty character, whatever will be-

come of me? I know Mrs. Dickson will be in a fine way

when I give her notice."

 

"Never you mind, you've only yourself to look to;

missuses are all for themselves, and servants must look

sharp for self, too. What wages shall you ask?"

 

"Seventeen, and all found."

 

"Better say sixteen ; you can have any amount of pickings."

 

"Well, I'm not particular to a pound, for I should like to

live in a place where I can dish the missus, and bless your

heart, there's small chance at Dickson's. Leg of mutton,

hot, cold, and hashed, and the joint of beef (not too fre-

quent) scraped to the bone. Then the butter's 'lowanced,

and its mean to screw out of the children; even the dripping

used up, and I have to dodge no end of a lot to bag a bit

I hate such ways!"

 

I am sure you'll have nothing of that kind to contend with in

a competition — it's my belief Miss Williams knows no more

how much suet goes to a pudding than my kitten. By and

by, perhaps, she'll begin to calculate, and then you must

take things with ah 'igh hand, and say you learned your

business under a man-cook who was a pupil of Francatelli,

and that to make things proper and good you can't be stinted

in trifles — which eggs and butter are."

 

"Dear me, Mrs. Green; after the confidence you was so

obliging as to express in my innocence, your advice is

supereggertory. Leave me alone to manage a young in-

eggsperienced lady? Pray, ma'am, is my future employers

rich?"

 

"Can't say; but it won't matter to you."

 

"Not a nutmeg, Mrs. Green. But if I've this painful

duty to perform — as our school-teacher used to say when

she hit us raps over our knuckles — I'll away and get it done.

I feel for Mrs. Dickson, I really do!"

 

"A matter of business. Miss Tomkins, and pray do the

thing as such; and to-morrow, at twelve o'clock, wait on

their address, and say I sent you ; and put on your engage-

ment bonnet as well as your manners, and do credit to the

character I've given you."

 

"Trust me, Mrs. Green, and thank you; and when I get

to my new situation, I shan't forget who recommended me in."

 

"If you please, ma'am, can I speak to you?" said Lucy

Tomkins to Mrs. Dickson, as soon as she returned to that

lady's house.

 

"Certainly, Lucy ; come in. What is it?"

 

"If you please, Mrs. Dickson, I feel that I ought to be

doing better, and therefore you must please to take my

month's notice."

 

"Well, Lucy," said the lady, humbly, "I shall be sorry to

lose you; it is so trying, in my delicate state of health, to

change one's servants. If it is that you are not satisfied

with your wages, I am sure Mr. Dickson will allow me to

raise them."

 

"But it's not altogether the wages, ma'am ; it's the oppor-

tunity I want."

 

"How so?"

 

"To improve myself. You see, you live so plain; has

no hentries; nothing but roast and boiled; and really I'm

very sorry, but I must consider myself."

 

"Very well, Lucy; I am afraid if you cannot do with our

way of living, we must part But I also am sorry."

 

"There's no help for it that I see, for I've thought and

thought, and says I to myself, Mrs. Dickson suits me, and

I suit her; but there's no opportunities; and I laid awake,

and cried all night, and, says I, this won't do; so I'll tell

mistress at once. I hope, ma'am, if I hear of a suitable

situation, you'll speak for me; and if so be you could suit

yourself before the month, and release me, I shall be much

obliged."

 

"I will try, Lucy."

 

And poor Mrs. Dickson applied in a few days to that

most respectable register-office of which Mrs. Green was

the nominal superintendent and real proprietress, and was

supplied with a cook in time to allow the invaluable Tomkins

to enter the service of the newly-married Mr. and

Mrs. Arkroyd.

 

"I did hope," said Mrs. Green to the victim then under

hand (Mrs. Dickson), "that now you were suited," Lucy

Tomkins is a very good servant, but she has the very

common fault of not knowing when she is well off. I must

say, after all your kindness and consideration, it appears a

little ungrateful. It's enough to make ladies hard-hearted,

for certainly the more they do for servants, the more they

may. But don't you mind, ma'am; I'll find you a good

substitute. Indeed, I have one in my eye now." And so,

indeed, she had, and earned several more half-crowns by

dexterous management, in enticing away servants and sup-

plying others to fill the vacancies thus created.

 

It was quite true, as Lucy Tomkins had said, that the

Dicksons did live very plainly; for, as Mrs. Dickson had

no knowledge of cookery herself, and could not afford to

trust to a cook, she found the only plan open to her was

closely to estimate the quantities required for the actual

existence of her household, and to allow so much, and no

more. Thus a large leg of mutton, with a very limited

supply of "trimmings," would usually, with a pudding,

form the Sunday's dinner, and was expected to, and did,

last cold for two or three days. Bread and butter, or

treacle, was all that was allowed for the children and

nursery at other meals, and bread and cheese for the

supper of the governess and servants. Of course, these

last fared better than the governess and children, for, with

all the closeness of her calculations, Mrs. Dickson could

not outwit such a clever girl as Lucy, who would have her

" rasher " and dumpling or cake, whether allowed or not.

But the governess, who could only have her allotted portions,

was dispirited, and had a languid state of health, sadly un-

fitting her for her occupation. The children grew up

slight and delicate, with very small appetites, and unable to

take anything but the fare to which they had been accus-

tomed, turning even in disgust from any well-cooked stew,

or anything 'but joints plainly boiled or roasted.

 

Mrs. Dickson was accustomed to speak of her children as

if they belonged to some exceptional and extraordinary

species. The least thing, she said, made them bilious.

Eggs were too rich for them. Even boiled milk for break-

fast could only be taken occasionally. A little tea suited

them best Coffee did not agree with them either, and cold

bacon made them ill. It was certainly true; but why?

The little creatures had been so stinted and so restricted

that their stomachs had become even more incapable of

discharging their office than they would probably have been

if constantly loaded with improper diet.

 

But it must not be supposed Mrs. Dickson was not an

affectionate mother. It was her judgment, not her heart,

which erred, and the pity of it is that errors of judgment

are commonly more fatal than those of the affections. She

argued: "The children of the poor do not have delicacies, and

why should mine require them? If the children of working

people get meat two or three times a week, it is considered

very well, and mine, with meat once a day regularly, ought

to be very strong and healthy; and yet I believe it would

suit them better to have rice or sago every other day, instead

of meat."

 

It is true that the hardy children of the true peasant type

can live on very meagre food, if they have enough of it;

but it is not so with the children of working people in large

towns. They require, and commonly get, a more stimulating

diet; if not actual meat, yet good substitutes for it in

dripping and fat of various kinds, and vegetables cooked

with meat; and if they do not have proper nourishment,

they become sickly and liable to disease. But Mrs. Dickson

argued unconsciously from premises that suited her arrange-

ments. She had a grand appearance to keep up, she and

her children were always obliged to appear well dressed

and she had carte blanche from her husband to hire a

brougham whenever she thought it needful. There was of'

necessity always a neatly-dressed maid to attend the door

for callers, and she herself in readiness to receive them.

To effect all this, as well as to have a large, " well-situated

house," it was needful to pinch somewhere, for both she

and her husband had a wholesome horror of debt and

so the lot fell on what she called "domestic economy," —

a rigid apportioning of the' cheapest material on which life

could be sustained. It was no wonder the doctor's bill

was always heavy, or that he never suggested extra nourish-

ment for anyone but Mrs. Dickson.

 

CHAPTER V.

 

Lilian William's wedding was said to have

been one of the gayest of the season; she had

eight bridesmaids and a large number of guests

at the ceremony, whilst she herself was attired

in the fullest magnificence of bridal costume.

Everything was thoroughly well done in the

latest fashion, and Mrs. Williams felt her

ambition and vanity gratified to an unprecedented extent.

That Lily was married, that one of her girls was "settled,

"was good; but "the grand wedding" was to her

of much more consequence, and so intent was her mind

on this one idea that she never even noticed the grave

change which was stealing over her husband. People re-

marked to each other at the wedding that "Williams was

breaking up sadly," and noted as singular that he became

even paler as his glance fell on the splendour of the break-

fast-table. Some, however, referred this and the painful

effort with which he spoke to his emotion. "It is so hard,"

they whispered, "to part from a favourite child; "but surprise

and conjecture became more rife when it was his duty

to make his speech, and in an agitated tone he said: "I am

very glad to give my daughter to a good man; she takes

him little but her love; may that be all sufficing now and

whilst they live! I feel certain his home and guardianship

will be surer than mine, and for this, too, I am thankful she

should go with him."

 

"Were you mad," exclaimed Mrs. Williams, in their first

private moment, "to tell the world you had nothing to give

your daughter, and to sit there looking like a ghost at a

funeral rather than a parent at a wedding? You spoilt the

whole thing, and I never will forgive you."

 

"Everybody will know soon, Anne, that we had no right

to such a display. I said what I did to prepare their minds

for that which may come any hour now."

 

"What do you mean, Fred," cried Mrs. Williams, in great

excitement, "by thus trying to make me miserable?"

 

"Anne, is this the first time I have told you that we are

living beyond- our means?"

 

"Is it the first time I have told you, you have no spirit,

that it is worse to look poor than to be poor?"

 

"I dispute that; but let it pass. I have perhaps wanted

spirit, and certainly I have wanted firmness; but you must

not blame me when you know the worst."

 

Then Mrs. Williams became alarmed, and entreated an

explanation. But although when it was given she perceived

their affairs were growing desperate, she did not counsel her

husband at all risks to pause and put his house on a different

footing — she was too proud to acknowledge before the world

that they were poor, but not too proud to act the lie of her

life out. So she urged her husband at any cost "to keep up

his credit;" and the result was that when an opportunity —

even in these days of lax commercial morality, regarded

neither as honest nor legitimate — offered, Mr. Williams

forfeited for ever his character for integrity, and committed

himself to a scheme which ultimately worked not only his

own ruin, but that of many innocent people. But, for some

time it gave his wife the means to gratify her extravagance,

and she, though feeling the supplies were drawn from

perilous sources, never heeded consequences, nor hesitated

to make every consideration subserve to her love of display.

We must, however, leave her, to follow more closely now

the fortunes of her daughter.

 

The honeymoon over, Lily and her husband returned

from Paris supremely happy, the one looking forward with

delight to her new mode of life, the other to the quiet joys

of home — which, alas! he too soon discovered would not

be his. There had been some difficulty in fixing on a

residence for the young couple. Mr. Arkroyd would have

preferred to live at some little distance from town, but

to this Lily had objected, saying, piteously, she "should be

buried alive; that as to a garden, it was the most expensive

luxury in the world. Did not even papa say, every cabbage

cost him half-a-crown? Besides, they could have a little

one without going out of everybody's reach for it."Then

he tried for some nearer suburban retreat; but in vain, as

Lily, seconded by her mother, had determined that, as they

could not afford to keep a carriage, they ought to be near

town, and so Albany Villa, in the vicinity of Regent's

Park, was decided on.

 

Mr. Arkroyd felt they were beginning badly in having a

larger house than they required, and that ninety pounds a-

year was too much rent for their income. However, as

nothing more moderate considered habitable by the ladies

could be found, he was obliged to consent to take it. When

it came to the furnishing he was sorely puzzled, for if he

had acted on Mrs. Williams's suggestions he would have out-

run the sum put aside for that purpose; so he at once gave

the whole affair to an upholsterer whose estimate seemed

moderate, and the result of this was that the articles supplied

to him were made rather to please the eye than with any

reference to possible wear, and that he paid much more for

them than he would have done had they been chosen by a

competent judge. Mrs. Williams and Lily, however, with

their habitual want of thought for the future, declared all

very nice and satisfactory, never heeding how soon the

delicate net and lace would look soiled, the beautiful chintz

be crumpled, or the gilding be tarnished. It was all very

pretty now and fit for a bride, and that sufficed them.

 

Lily entered on her new sphere of action with no misgivings

as to her power of management She found she had two

clever servants, who undertook everything without

any trouble to her, and that she had plenty of time on her

hands for visiting and pleasure. Invitations poured in upon

her, and all were as nearly as possible' accepted, so that she

and her husband now saw next to nothing of each other;

for, tired with the dissipation of the previous evening, she

could never rise to join him at breakfast, and then he went

to his office, and only returned in time to dress for some

party or public amusement.

 

This was not what Mr. Arkroyd had pictured to himself

of wedded happiness, but he dearly loved his wife and was

glad she should enjoy herself while she was so bright and

young, and he kept saying to himself, "By and by she will

settle down; it will all come right in time." Meanwhile,

however, he was much dismayed to find that their household

expenditure in comparison with their income was enormous,

and with much gentleness and caution he approached the

subject with his wife.

 

"My dear," he said, "I am short of money."

 

"And so am I, Arthur; the five pounds you gave me on

Monday are all gone. Money is such a trouble to me and

goes so fast that I sometimes think I must lose it."

 

"Well, I am almost inclined to think so, too, now and

then," he said, smiling, "but really, dearest, we must

be careful; it is now just three months since we began

housekeeping, and we have spent nearly two hundred

pounds."

 

"Nonsense, Arthur, how can it be? You don't mean

to say I have spent all that?"

 

"Not quite; still you know I have had no personal expenses

beyond that of my transit to and from the City, and

luncheon."

 

"Then you mean to say I am an extravagant wife. Oh!

I wish I never, never"

 

"Now, Lily darling, do not be unkind. I only want to

show you that if we go on as we have begun, we shall end

in ruin and misery. Let us talk it over quietly, and see

how the money goes, and where we can retrench."

 

"It's dreadful!" she persisted; "I have not had even a

new pair of gloves since I married — I mean I have not

bought any. All the money goes in housekeeping. We

must live."

 

"Yes, and well too; but still we must be more economical

It strikes me, do you know, that Lucy is very extravagant,

for that night you were ill I went into the kitchen for hot

water, and saw the remains of the servants' supper.

There were cold fowl and tongue, oyster shells and empty stout

bottles, besides apple-pie and tarts, and it looked as if four

persons had supped. I did not wish to worry you then,

so I asked Lucy what it meant, and she answered me pertly

that they had treated themselves to oysters, and that the

other things wanted eating, and so they had them; and

altogether denied having had friends."

 

"Oh dear, Arthur, how can you be so suspicious. Lucy

is most invaluable — and such a good cook. If you heard

half the stories I do of other people's servants, you would

pronounce her a treasure."

 

"I am afraid, my dear, you trust her too far — and Emma

also; not only does she have the care of all your own

things, but you leave everything in the way of stores in

her charge. Now I think such confidence can never safely

be placed in untried persons."

 

"I had excellent characters with both my servants."

"Still, I advise you to limit your confidence in them."

 

Lily thought a moment. A conviction that her husband

was right flashed across her mind; but to make any

alterations must, she knew, diminish her own ease and

opportunities for pleasure, so she determined to resist his

rght to interfere with her management, and answered, pettishly,

"You must really take to the housekeeping yourself if you

are not satisfied with my management I know the servants

are honest, or I should not trust them; it would make my

life miserable to be suspecting those about me and to be

stingy in trifles."

 

"You know, darling," he continued, in the same gentle

tone, "that I am quite satisfied you do your very best to

manage properly, but yet I cannot let things go on at this

pace; and how we are to make our income last out this

year, having begun so badly, I cannot think."

 

"Oh! people will trust us."

 

"Does my Lily," he said, with some sternness now,

"mean to be dishonest? Never let me hear you say such

a thing again, but remember we must and shall pay our way

and live within our income."

 

And now Mrs. Arkroyd resorted to a weak woman's de-

fence — tears and hysteric sobs. "Oh! why had he taken

her from her happy home? how could he speak in that

cruel way? she would go back and never see him again

if he could not always be as kind as he had been."

 

"My dear," he said, "I have only spoken under the gravest

compulsion, and you must feel it would have been false

kindness to allow things to go on to the verge of ruin with-

out warning you. I must leave you now, but you will think it

over, and we will talk again about what is best to be done."

 

When left to herself Mrs. Arkroyd felt very uncomfortable,

for not only did she know that she had spent a great deal

of money, but that there were many debts, such as twenty

pounds to the livery-stable keeper, for she had adhered to

her determination to have a brougham whenever she required

it, and had indulged in riding, always, of course, attended by

a groom. Besides this, ten pounds were due to her milliner

and dressmaker; for, although her trousseau was handsome,

she had found in going out so much that dresses required

renovating and re-trimming, and that head-dresses and

bonnets must be made to the latest fashion and suitable to

every occasion. "You know," she had said to her husband,

 

1 must be particular, being a bride; I shall be so much

observed," and to this he assented, without thinking of the

inevitable cost.

 

Whilst Lily was still holding troubled converse with

herself, her mother called to see her, and to her she poured

out her trouble.

 

"Oh!" she cried, "Arthur is so angry at expenses, he

says we shall be ruined. I did not tell him of some bills

which have just come in. What must I do, mother?"

 

"When you have been a wife half my time, Lily, you

will have learned to take no notice of a husband's outcry

about expenses; they always make a fuss before they

are hurt, lest a blow be given unawares. Still, my dear, you

must not be extravagant."

 

"I am not, I am sure. I cannot imagine where all the

money goes."

 

"You should keep an account."

 

"But you never did."

 

"No; I told your father, on his frequently suggesting it,

that it was trouble enough to get money from him and then

spend it, without accounting for it But then our circum-

stances are so different to yours. You pay your own bills,

of course."

 

"No; Lucy said she had always been accustomed to do

it, and so I let her."

 

"Of course, then, you look them over and check

them?"

 

"Sometimes; but they generally go two or three weeks,

and I forget what we have had. But Lucy sees they are

all right, she says, and she orders what we want. It would

be no use my interfering if even she did cheat me. I don't

know what is really necessary."

 

"I think, my dear, you must try and learn."

 

"Ah! that is easier said than done. Servants do not

like one in the kitchen, and will not stay if one is too

particular. I only wish Arthur had more money, and

then there would not be such trouble about trifles."

 

"Well, Lily, you knew what you had to expect before

your marriage. You pleased yourself, for I certainly ex-

pected you to do better as regards money. You must

make the best of your position now."

 

"Oh, do not think I would change Arthur for anybody in

the world; only I am very wretched about the bills, and

think it would have been better not to have married at all

if things are to be like this."

 

"You had better tell Arthur about the bills at once."

"I cannot."

"You must do it sooner or later, unless you save and so

pay them."

"That I should never do."

 

After some further attempts to help her daughter, which

all proved fruitless, Mrs. Williams left her to the adjustment

of her own affairs.

 

"Missus has been crying," said Emma to Lucy.

"What's up?"

"I was dusting just outside the door when Mrs. Williams

was with her, and I could make out that master thinks we're

a-going it Living too fast, that's about it."

"Hadn't we better cut it then, Emma?"

 

"Oh, I don't think the game's up yet; but I've noticed

a queer look in his eye ever since he went ferreting down-

stairs and saw them oyster shells."

 

"Pity he can't mind his own business; but if he gives

me any more of his nonsense I shall tell him to suit him-

self."  

"So shall I"

 

CHAPTER VI.

 

Next door to Albany Villa there lived a lady who

has, for ten years been so severely afflicted by

rheumatism as to be unable to walk or even

get up from her chair without assistance. Her

self amusement consisted in watching and

gossiping about her neighbours, and it was with

no small delight she found the new comers, Mr. and Mrs.

Arkroyd, such favourable subjects for her. For ten years

had Miss Wilson sat the greater part of each day in her

luxurious chair, propped up by cushions in an angle of the

pleasant bay-window, looking out and commenting upon

the world of passers, with whom she had long been too

feeble to mingle. As is always the case with confirmed

gossips, there was a spice of malice in all her observations,

and she could not be fully interested in any tale unless

there was some open or latent scandal in it The prime

minister of this local terror was an ancient handmaid, who

had lived with her mistress for thirty years, and it was to

her Miss Wilson looked for her strongest meat in the form

of gossip From the very moment Albany Villa was taken

by Mr. Arkroyd, did Miss Wilson and Elgeth, her maid,

commence their observations. They saw him enter to view

it with the agent, on the morrow noted Lily and her mother

come to inspect it, and then, when the bill was removed,

knew all was settled, and the faces of their future neighbours.

Elgeth soon discovered that the furnishing was done

under an estimate, and until all was finished they had plenty

to do in lamenting about the fragile character of the furniture.

 

"I think," said Elgeth, "I never saw so many skeletons

in my life; the things look as if they were made for nothing

but airing hangings, or as if the new-comers were going to

open a laundry, and had got in a lot of new patent clothes-

horses."

 

"And the kitchen things," chimed in Miss Wilson;

"why, they are only fit for a doll's house!"

 

"Or to play at housekeeping, ma'am. I must say it is

all that young lady looks fit for, and that she's very much

of a piece with the furniture."

 

The next sensation was made by the arrival of the two

servants, upon whom Elgeth at once pronounced condem-

nation, intimating, though not in poetic language, that she

"saw the future lying like a map before her eyes. As sure

as you're there, ma'am, it will be a case of Smallsons."

Now Smallsons were people who had once resided on the

other side of Alton Lodge, and who had suddenly come to

grief and vanished from the neighbourhood; and though

Miss Wilson said, "Elgeth, don't think of such dreadful

things," it was clear, by the smile with which she received

the prophecy, that she shared the impression of her hand-

maid. Since the Arkroyds had taken possession of their

new home it had been remarked that Miss Wilson sat

longer in her window than formerly, and that when her

chair was wheeled away Elgeth took up the post of observation.

 

It was one evening shortly before the conversation in

which Mr. Arkroyd had intimated to Lily his distrust of

their servants, that Elgeth turned from the window to her

mistress, now seated by the fire, and exclaimed, "The

carriage is round again, ma'am; another evening party.

Would you like to be wheeled up and see Mrs. Arkroyd

get in?"

 

"No, thank you, I know all her toilettes; you can tell me

which she's wearing to-night, and whether he's saving his

gloves, as usual."

 

"Very grand to-night, ma'am; wedding-dress, and Mr.

Arkroyd has on the left glove."

 

Miss Wilson laughed slightly, and then, as if some

sympathy for the unfortunate husband were newly evoked,

heaved a sigh. "To be sure," she said, "he wore the right

the night before last Oh! if she were only half as careful.

Gone, are they; and pray do the servants receive this evening?"

 

"I expect so; I saw that loose-looking man in the grey

suit hovering about an hour since. I declare I am getting

quite frightened; it is not safe, to be where there are such

goings on. He's gone in, ma'am ; and bless me if the

housemaid is not come out in her mistress's white cloak

and the blue bonnet with marabouts."

 

"Elgeth, it is no use, this cannot go on; something must

be done to warn these young people of the sort of creatures

they have about them."

 

"Of course, Miss Wilson," replied Elgeth, stiffly, "you

can do as you like; but I should say that no warning,

short of telling Mrs. Arkroyd to stay at home and mind

her own house, would be of any use."

 

"But there are better servants than hers, some who

could be trusted "

 

"There were in my day, ma'am; but where to go for

one now, I don't know."

 

Miss Wilson was very much alive to any assumption of

superiority on the part of her old servant, and tartly

replied : " Do not be conceited, Elgeth. I say, again,

Mrs. Arkroyd ought to be warned."

 

"And would you send me in to do it, or write a note,

and lay yourself open to a lawyer's letter for defamation

of character, and the vengeance of those dreadful women

into the bargain ? Mrs. Arkroyd must buy her experience,

ma'am, and if it's rather dear, you won't have to pay."

 

"You are getting old and selfish, Elgeth, and I shall

consider what is to be done."

 

Elgeth now retired from her post of observation, and

lapsed into silence, which Miss Wilson knew to be her

favourite mode of expressing her indignation. Nothing

more was said on that evening, but the next morning

Elgeth entered the room full of importance, evidently

having something of remarkable interest to communicate.

 

"I have just been," she said, "to the butchers, and

Gleeson said that Mrs. Arkroyd's cook had left her trades-

people's books behind her, and would I mind taking them

to her, as I lived so close; and here they are, ma'am,

and a fine tale they unfold Why, Gleeson's bill for last

week is two pounds, and you know they never dined at

home but once; and then here is Fowke, fishmonger, ten

shillings; and fifteen shillings for eggs and poultry; and

if there isn't five pounds of butter in six days, I am not

your maid Elgeth!"

 

Miss Wilson could not resist the temptation of examining

the books herself, and declared that never in her experience

had she seen anything revealing such a dreadful state of things,

and intimated that everything was charged much higher to

the Arkroyds than to herself.

 

"No doubt, ma'am; but, then, there's nobody to give

percentage to in your establishment When ladies have

nobody they can trust, they should pay their own bills."

 

"Run in with the books, and I will think what is best

to be done."

 

But it ended in Miss Wilson agreeing with Elgeth that

Mrs. Arkroyd must pay the full price for her experience,

and the principle of non-intervention (often as selfish in

private as political affairs) was decided on.

 

Yet Miss Wilson was not at ease in her own mind. She

had no sympathy with Mrs. Arkroyd, regarding her as a

vain, foolish young person, who deserved to suffer for her

wanton neglect of her home affairs. But in the heart of the

lonely old woman there arose something like a feeling of

maternal solicitude for the unfortunate husband, and although

she shrank until it was too late from giving any such

warning as might have put him on his guard against his

servants, she no longer watched the lamentable state of

affairs at Albany Villa with feelings other than those of

anxiety and pain.

 

Some months later — it was one summer evening, after she

had observed Arthur Arkroyd pacing slowly and thoughtfully

on the other side of the street, smoking a cigar — Miss

Wilson said to Elgeth:

 

"Do you not think Mr. Arkroyd looks worn and ill?"

 

"Yes, indeed, I do," replied Elgeth, "and who can wonder

with such a home as he has. Why, he is only walking up

and down there, I know, because there is no comfort for him

inside. I heard this afternoon that Mrs. Arkroyd is going

in debt everywhere, and the lady told Mrs. Benson she

knows he is fretting over money matters."

 

"What can I do? what can I do? " murmured Miss Wilson, sadly.

 

"I see no way of helping him; and, after all, if a man

does not know how to be master in his own house, who can

teach him?"

 

"Nobody, Elgeth. Still, you cannot tell how hard it is

for a man to take the reins of household government from

his wife. Indeed, if she will not hold them, he hardly can.

You might as well order the wife to manage a husband's

intricate business affairs as a husband to guide the house."

 

"What a pity it is," exclaimed Elgeth, "that young men

nowadays do not set their faces against fashionable girls.

Anybody would think they wanted toys, not wives, to see

the pretty dressed-up puppets they bring home, and just set

them up inside, and expect them to behave like live, sensible

women."

 

"It is the mothers who are to blame, Elgeth."

 

"Indeed, you are right, ma'am. It just turns my stomach

to see that Mrs. Williams driving up to the door with those

other two dolls, which she is just a setting out like princesses

to catch two other poor fellows."

 

"It's of no use for two old women like ourselves to sit

here, Elgeth, wishing things were different; but I mean to

pray, that for the sake of England's future, her daughters

may take heed in time. There is fast settling on them the

heavy reproach of uselessness and idleness, and nothing but

a return to simplicity of life and manners can wipe it away.

Then wives will not be ashamed to busy themselves in

household matters, and daughters will no longer glory in

that which is their shame — their white, small hands, which

have never been soiled by any useful work."

 

"Well," said Elgeth, "I only wish Mrs. Williams, her

daughters, and all that tribe, could hear your words, and

lay them to heart; but now, ma'am, you must let me wheel

you away."

 

"Very well — he has just gone in. Elgeth, when you

have settled me for the night, write to Mr. Hargrave, and

say I wish to see him on particular business."

Now, Mr. Hargrave was Miss Wilson's lawyer.

 

CHAPTER VII.

 

A few days after the conversation Mr. Arkroyd

had with his wife on the subject of their house-

hold expenditure, she presided at a stall at a

charity bazaar. It was her mother who had in-

stigated Lily to this, for she wished her unmarried

daughters that season to have this recognised and

licensed opportunity for husband catching, and

whilst she had the gratification of parading her success in

the case of the one already married, Lily should introduce

her sisters into this particular field with all the prestige

which attaches to a lady patroness. Lily was still very

pretty, though she looked somewhat worn now, and she

served admirably as an easy matron protector to her fresher,

if not prettier sisters, who, attired in the most elegant and

airy costumes — such as at that juncture fashion declared

the most becoming — hovered about the stall where Mrs.

Arkroyd played at shop. She, however, kept behind the

counter, having as satellites two friends who had been

thoughtfully selected as being more useful than ornamental,

and as not being sufficiently attractive to interfere with the

chances of the Misses Williams, each of whom carried a

dainty basket of flowers and ran after every gentleman they

thought likely to be victimised, offering, with the most

bewitching of smiles, to sell him a rose for half-a-crown, and,

as a further inducement, "to pin it into his coat gratis" —

this last act being invariably performed with an affectation

of shyness and sweet embarrassment Occasionally they

met with "a bear," for whom their blandishments had no

charm, at least not at the price; but they had considerable

skill in discerning their game, and when they marked it

seldom failed to bring it down.

 

After the champagne luncheon, which is usually given at

well-managed bazaars — out of the proceeds, of course — to the

stall-holders and attendant friends, the spirits of the amateur

shop-girls rose greatly, and they pushed and puffed their

wares with a persistency that would not be tolerated in their

professional sisters — such solicitation would be boldness in

them, and drive respectable customers from their stores.

But, in a good cause, what will not gentle, modest girls

venture, and in the sacred name of charity, prudent

mothers suffer them to risk ? "The end justifies the

means," they say, but what a shocking Jesuit assertion

they would call it if applied to anything but charity bazaars,

or to that ulterior object which they hardly allow to their

secret hearts. -

 

Mrs. Williams had promised Lily, when she engaged to

preside at the stall, to supply her with twenty pounds'

worth of saleable articles; add to this at least another

twenty as the cost of suitably attiring her daughters — they

could not wear the same dresses twice, and the bazaar lasted

three days, — and it will be seen that if Mrs. Williams had in

the first instance given her money to the charity she would

have saved considerably. Neither, when the bazaar was

over, and Mrs. Arkroyd handed to the committee a sum

which did not greatly exceed what had, or would have to be

expended — in returning the contributions of friends when

they held stalls, — did she consider that it would have been

more satisfactory, as well as cheaper, to have done "good

for goodness sake."

 

I wonder whether charitable young ladies could be

induced to try the experiment of disposing of their handi-

work privately to their friends and acquaintance; and

whether, if they would energetically set themselves to do

this, the alleged necessity for laying in wait for the un-

wary in public might not be obviated? I really think it

might.

 

Lily, it has been said, was looking worn at the bazaar;

she had been ailing for some time, and had been earnestly

warned by her physician to avoid all over-exertion, but to

this warning nor the loving entreaties of her husband, would

she give any heed. On the last day of the sale she was so

evidently ill, that Mr. Arkroyd said, "Lily, dear, you are

looking dreadfully worn-out; had we not better send an

excuse to Mrs. Lawrence? I am sure you are not in a fit

state to go to a party to-night"

 

"Oh, Arthur, I must go. Mamma and everybody would

be so disappointed, and I am sure it would do me more

harm to stay at home and fidget about it than to go."

Then, as usual, though against his judgment, he yielded,

but remarked as they got into the carriage, he was certain

it was madness to go; and the result proved him to be

right, for after the first dance Lily fainted and had to be

carried from the room. As soon as possible, though in a 

very suffering state, she was slowly driven home, arriving a

little after midnight, just, indeed, as Lucy and Emma, with

a party of three gentlemen and one lady to balance the

sexes, were enjoying a very substantial and convivial repast,

consisting this time of lobsters and rabbit-pie, with chicken,

sundry cold meats, and delicate preserves and pastry.

 

Hearing shouts of laughter, and seeing the whole house

illuminated, Mr. Arkroyd desired the coachman not to

knock, but let himself in noiselessly with his latch-key.

Pausing a moment at the half-open door of the dining-room,

he overheard the following choice fragment of conversation: —

 

"Well, I must say, Miss Tomkins," said the guest in

whose honour chiefly the feast was spread, "you have the

art of dressing kittens to perfection."

 

"Oh, you funny man," she lisped; " but as our poulterer

is a very respectable fellow, he might call you out if he

heard you; he warranted these as barn-door rabbits."

 

"And this 'ere chicken, I suppose, from the warren?"

 

"That would be a blacking of its character, sir; but if I

must have anything to do with such a low article, give me

Day and Martin's."

 

"Eye and Martin, did you say, miss? Hardly expected

to 'ear such language from your delicate lips."

 

"Drink to my better manners, then; this is some of our

best sherry. We ain't many bins, but what we has is, as I

heard a judge say, Duffers and Gorgons. For my own

palate I must say as I prefers a good sound XXX— you

knows what's put in it, and it's a home-grown article. Our

people, they tried to put me off with XX, but, says I to the

brewer, 'None o' your nonsense with me; you bring XXX

by mistake, or I'll vow and declare you brought it in flat,

and lose you the custom, which ain't bad for a small family.

One day, him as thinks hisself master opened his eyes

when the cask was reported running slow, and says he to

Emma, 'It do seem to me the ale goes very fast;' and

"Yes, sir,' says she, with spirit, "it do; you see we does all

the work, and has no wine," and be whipt if he didn't seem

to see it, and shut up on that subject for evermore."

 

"Yes," said Emma; "I made him ashamed of his

screwey ways. Next place I go to I do hope my mistress

won't be the master."

 

The gallant speech which followed this remark of Lucy's

was cut short by the entrance of Mr. Arkroyd, who threw

the door wide open on the festive scene, and confronted

the party, whose confusion, even at that moment of anger

and anxiety, struck him as most ludicrous. Lucy sat at the

head of the table in full toilette, and wearing more than one

article of her mistress's wardrobe. Neither had Emma

spared to adorn herself from the same source. The guests

quickly perceived that they were in the presence of the

wrathful master of the house, and apprehending danger

slunk away, whilst Emma and Lucy rapidly regained com-

posure, and, becoming equal to the occasion, awaited their

doom.

 

"What does this mean?" he demanded, angrily.

 

"We were only just having our relations to see us for

once in a way, and of course we could not but give them

something to. eat"

 

"Let that be as it may, you both leave my house to-

morrow morning; and I wonder I do not now send you off

with your relations."

 

"We are ready to go," said Lucy, speaking for both,

"when you have given us our wages and a month for

warning."

 

"I shall do no such thing."

"We shan't go unless you do."

 

Without staying to argue the matter with them, Mr.

Arkroyd returned to his wife, whose condition now so much

alarmed him that he thought it necessary to summon medical

aid, and, to his great vexation, was compelled also to re-

quire the assistance of the servants whom he had just so

contumaciously dismissed. They were, however, so sulky

and unready, that, Lily having been reported on by the doctor

as requiring the utmost care and attention, Mr. Arkroyd,

without waiting for daylight, fetched her mother, who, in her

turn, speedily secured a professional nurse, feeling herself, as

she said, "quite unequal to the responsibility of nursing her

daughter," but being really too helpless and ignorant to dare

to do so.

 

"What am I to do with these servants, Arthur?" she said,

to her distressed and bewildered son-in-law; "they have

made up their minds to defy me; Lucy said when I just

now ordered gruel that it was the nurse's place to make

it, and nurse, who is evidently an excellent creature,

declares she cannot leave her patient to attend to cooking."

 

"Well, mamma," he replied, "in such an emergency I

think I had better try my hand at it; but I will pay these

servants all demands, send them off before I go into the

City, and get in a charwoman."

 

"I see no alternative; but it's dreadful to be the victim

of charwomen."

 

"It appears we can but take our choice of the way in

which we will be victimised; let me settle with these

domestic fiends in your presence."

 

Being summoned thereto, Emma and Lucy assumed the

airs of injured innocence, and declared themselves "only

too glad to leave a house where they'd been put upon and

insulted, and their bread, which was their characters, tried to

be tooked from them. They'd nothing against Mrs. Arkroyd:

she always was the lady; but they knew somebody who called

hisself a gendeman, who did not know the ways of such."

 

In three hours from that time a charwoman was duly

installed, and Lily got her gruel; her mother had tried

to manufacture some, but, partly owing to there being

no saucepan in the house fit for such a purpose — all

being burnt and dirty — and partly to her utter ignorance,

she spoiled it.

 

A fortnight went by. Lily, though out of danger, was

still very weak; although she gave no sign, her self-reproach

at having destroyed her own hope of motherhood and her

husband's joy in the prospect, was so great as to retard her

recovery. During all this time, increased expenses, besides

the debts of which he knew, were making Mr. Arkroyd very

anxious. He was afraid in his wife's still delicate state to

say anything to her; but the case was so urgent, the

necessity so grave, that he made a painful effort to discuss

matters with Mrs. Williams. After telling her how they

stood, he said, —

 

"You know, mamma, I must not look on whilst we are

ruined."

 

"Certainly not, Arthur. I must talk to Lily, and show

her the necessity of keeping within bounds."

 

"Do; and I think it will be as well to arrange to give

her a weekly sum for her own and the expenses of the

house, and that she should feel that it is literally all we

have to spend, and that, without misery and disgrace, we

cannot exceed it"

 

"Do you think," said Mrs. Williams, anxiously, " there is

no prospect of increasing your means?"

 

"That, as you know, depends on the lives of others;

but, even if I had, I should think we ought to be able to

live comfortably on our present income."

 

"You have no idea how difficult it is to make so small an

income sufficient for comfort; poor Lily has tried her best,

but she was brought up in affluence, and has not been used

to the small economies necessary in her present position."