“Yes, to see your Granny you would think so; she won’t leave it—even to have a cup of tea.”
“Well, Denis, as you are behind the scenes, I may tell you that I’ve only three and sixpence in the wide world. I’ve sold the teaspoons, and my mother-in-law’s miniature—she was a beauty, I’ll say that for her!—I got three pounds for it in Frederick Street.”
“And no doubt it was worth fifty.”
“My dear boy, buying is one thing, selling another. The dealer said miniatures were out of fashion, and a glut in the market—but he took it to oblige me. He was the same fellow who bought the white marble mantlepieces—they came from Florence, and had beautifully sculptured figures—he gave me ten pounds for the pair.”
“My blind old gentleman takes a surprising interest in this house,” said Bridget; “he remembers hearing of old Madame Doyne, and her extravagance, burning wax candles, even in the kitchen, and keeping three men-servants, and her china and silver a wonder; also her debts.”
“Which she staved off with sales of the Doyne heirlooms,” said her daughter-in-law, “though she was always more for buying than selling. She put the finishing stroke to the ruin of the family—for she was a gambler, and loved cards.”
A cup of tea and buttered toast had revived the old lady, and when Bridget carried out the tray she whispered to D’Arcy that she would put that—meaning the union—at the back of her mind for a week or two, till she saw how things were shaping; something might turn up.
For the next few days there were further anxious conferences between D’Arcy and his fiancée; the mortgage had been examined, and, unfortunately, proved to be in order. This was the news he brought to Bridget, as they stood together in the flagged passage after he had taken leave of her grandmother.
“When I think of the hundreds of pounds’ worth that have been sold out of this house for a mere song, I feel nearly crazy. I was telling Lynch of those fine marble chimney-pieces; he wishes he had seen them. He knows a good deal about such things, and is mad after old furniture.”
“There’s nothing left but the house itself,” said Bridget, “only the bare walls.”