He had not been residing long at Dame Worthington’s, therefore—his wife was always in the country—when he and she became remarkably chatty together, and communicative.
Sir Andrew passed himself off as a widower, and told such a pitiful tale how he had been wronged and dishonoured by Phillip and his own daughter, that the good dame listened attentively to all the old hypocrite had to say, and not only sympathised with him, but even went so far as to plead his cause to Sir Richard, who, she thought, from his power and position, might help Sir Andrew on to the path of fortune once more.
The cunning Scot knew that nothing pleases a woman more than flattery, particularly in one who is a “good listener,” and can hear out the many long stories which widows always have to tell.
Every one have their trials and troubles, as we have seen in this tale, besides Sir Andrew, hence it need not surprise any one to be informed that good Dame Worthington had a very long list of grievances to complain of in her dealings with the world.
It was her settled conviction that old widows were the most oppressed class in existence, and herself the most deeply wronged of them all.
Butchers, bakers, milkmen, and tax-collectors were her abomination, and she often sighed that boarding houses could not be carried on without them.
“For, my dear,” she would say, “one has scarcely got a few pounds in hand, before down come the bills upon you, first for one thing, and then for another, so that we never have a penny to call our own. And then, there’s our losses; ah, my dear, you haven’t the slightest notion of what I have to suffer; poor folks like me have occasion to be ‘smart,’ these times, I can assure you, for we see a deal of this wicked world in a very short time.
“Just fancy, my dear; little more than two years ago, a very respectable-looking, genteel young man, calls on me.
“‘Good morning, Dame Worthington,’ says he.
“‘Good morning, sir,’ says I, ‘and what do you please to want?’