“Have they no friends or relations?”
“I don’t know. Mrs. Lucas said she did not like to ask for their confidence. She always has them to supper on Sundays, and sends them eggs; but she is poor enough herself with eight children. She thinks the Wendovers will break down now that the winter is coming, and yet they won’t allow any one to guess that they are destitute.”
“Dear, dear, dear, how shocking! What is to be done, Aurea?”
“I’ve just had my allowance, and I’ll post them a five-pound note to-morrow anonymously, and I’ll get something later on from dad.”
“Yes, yes, yes, and I must see what I can do too. Poverty is cruel—a terrible thing—what a trial of one’s character!”
“It is indeed, and so are riches sometimes. They seem to change people’s dispositions—if they come in for a fortune.”
“That’s true; but I do hope, dear child, you are not thinking of your poor Aunt Bella?”
“Aunt Bella was much nicer when she lived in the Red Cottage, dined at one o’clock, and put a penny in the plate.”
“Oh, now, Aurea, I can’t let you say that; she is very proud of you, and a dear, kind sister to me. Why, only last week she gave me a lovely lace parasol, and when she writes to me it is always ‘My own darling Susan.’”
Aurea was silent. She was thinking of darling Susan’s many deprivations, humiliations, and hardships.