“‘She does,’ I replied, ‘and your grandmother was her kitchenmaid; but this sort of talk is foolish. My granddaughter is engaged to Mr. D’Arcy—one of her own class.’
“‘Then she’s a mad fool!’ he roared. He was furious, and, indeed, so was I. There was not a pin to choose between us; he said so many hateful things that at last I told him to go, and never again darken my doors.
“‘These doors are mine,’ he said, ‘and it is you who will go—not me. I’ve, as you know, a mortgage on this old barrack. I’ve not had a penny interest for two years; it’s a case of five hundred pounds, and interest, cash down, within a month, or I turn you into the street, you and your stuck-up lunatic of a granddaughter.’
“‘Well,’ I answered, ‘it’s the street for you to-day,’ and I got up and curtsied him out.”
“That was all right.”
“He will pay me back. I saw it in his face. Within four weeks I’ll have no home, for where am I to get five hundred pounds?” and she cast her eyes round the room, which was not large, but lofty, well-proportioned, and furnished with a few chairs, a decrepit sideboard, and black horsehair sofa.
“I stripped the house soon after we came here six years ago. I sold every mortal thing I could sell, to a dealer, I was so hard-set for ready money. The mahogany doors in the hall, dining-room, and upstairs, the two beautiful marble chimney-pieces in the drawing-room, the door-plates, and the French mirrors let into the walls between the windows; the whole place was terribly hacked and knocked about. Now there is nothing left; I’ve come to the end of everything, my dear boy. You know our circumstances just as well as I do myself—how my husband’s grandfather lived like a king, and got his wine and his furniture from France, and drove four horses. He was an attaché in Paris as a young man, and spoke French like a native. The next Doyne fell on worse times, and his mother Madame lived here in shameless extravagance and debt. After she died, the furniture was sold and the house let, till the north side went down, and this, and many another fine mansion, were left to rats and ruin.”
“Yes, that’s true, and more’s the pity.”
“When I was a bride at Castle Doyne I had my carriage, and a houseful of servants, but we found debts, and mortgages, and heavy jointures, small rents, and bad times; it was all we could do to educate Bridget’s father, and get him into the Army. He went to India, and then he married a girl without a penny, and they died and left me the child—and here I am, an old blind pauper.”
“For goodness’ sake stop your eternal needle,” said the young man suddenly. “Do give your poor eyes a rest. I can’t bear to see you sewing so hard, and always sewing.”