"It isn't for myself," resumed Mr. Melladew, "that I am overjoyed at the better prospect before us: it is for my girls. Perhaps it means that they will not have to go out to work any longer. They are good girls, but they are so pretty, and have such engaging ways, that I have often been disturbed by the circumstance of their not being so much under my own and their mother's eyes as we would wish them to be. It could not be helped hitherto. There's the question of dress, now. You can manage tolerably well when they're little girls; a clever woman like my wife can turn and twist, and cut up old things in a way to make the little ones look quite nice; but when they become young women, with all sorts of new ideas in their pretty heads, it is another pair of shoes. It's natural, too, that they should want a little pocket money to spend upon innocent pleasures and harmless vanities. We were young ourselves once, weren't we? We found we couldn't afford to give the girls what they wanted. They saw it, too, so they made up their minds, without saying a word to us, to look out for situations for themselves, and for months they haven't been a farthing's expense to us. They even give their mother a trifle a week towards the home. Good girls, the best of girls; I should be a miserable man without them. Still, as I said, I have been uneasy about them: there are so many scoundrels in the world ready with honeyed words to turn a girl's head; and it hurts me to think that they have their little secrets which they don't ask us to share. Now, thank God, it will be all right. My brother-in-law will be here to-morrow, and when he sees Lizzie and Mary he will be confirmed in his kind intentions towards them. They can leave their situations; and if any man wishes to pay them attentions he can do so in a straightforward manner in the home in which they were brought up."
He was in the blithest of spirits, and I cordially renewed my congratulations on his good fortune. In return, he condoled with me on the unpromising change in my own prospects. I was not very cheerful--no man could be in such a position--but I am not in the habit of magnifying my misfortunes to my friends, and I plucked up my spirits.
"You will soon get another situation," said Mr. Melladew.
"I hope so," I replied; "I cannot afford to keep long out of one."
"It may be in my power to give you a lift," he said kindly. "Who knows what may turn up in the course of the next few hours?"
I attached no signification to this not uncommon remark at the time it was uttered, but it recurred to me afterwards, charged with sad and terrible import. We fell to again discussing the matter of which he was full.
"I am almost ashamed of my good luck," said Mr. Melladew, "when I think what has happened to you."
"A man must accept the ups and downs of life with courage," I said, "and must put the best face he can upon them."
We were true friends, and I had a sincere respect for him as a worthy fellow who had faithfully performed his duties to his family and employers. He was passionately fond of his two daughters, and frequently spoke of them as the greatest blessing in his life. It was, indeed, delightful to witness the affection he bestowed upon them in the happy home of which he was the head. They were girls of which any man might have been proud, being not only beautiful, but bright and witty, and full of animation.
Mr. Melladew and I chatted together for another half-hour, and then he wished me good-night.