He himself was far from gay. He longed to tear out this malady from his breast. Poor dreamer, he did not know that to do so is to tear out God Himself. “Mrs. Spaniel,” he said when the laundress next came up from the village, “you are a widow, aren't you?”
“Yes, sir,” she said. “Poor Spaniel was killed by a truck, two years ago April.” Her face was puzzled, but beneath her apron Gissing could see her tail wagging.
“Don't misunderstand me,” he said quickly. “I've got to go away on business. I want you to bring your children and move into this house while I'm gone. I'll make arrangements at the bank about paying all the bills. You can give up your outside washing and devote yourself entirely to looking after this place.”
Mrs. Spaniel was so much surprised that she could not speak. In her amazement a bright bubble dripped from the end of her curly tongue. Hastily she caught it in her apron, and apologized.
“How long will you be away, sir?” she asked.
“I don't know. It may be quite a long time.”
“But all your beautiful things, furniture and everything,” said Mrs. Spaniel. “I'm afraid my children are a bit rough. They're not used to living in a house like this—”
“Well,” said Gissing, “you must do the best you can. There are some things more important than furniture. It will be good for your children to get accustomed to refined surroundings, and it'll be good for my nephews to have someone to play with. Besides, I don't want them to grow up spoiled mollycoddles. I think I've been fussing over them too much. If they have good stuff in them, a little roughening won't do any permanent harm.”
“Dear me,” cried Mrs. Spaniel, “what will the neighbours think?”
“They won't,” said Gissing. “I don't doubt they'll talk, but they won't think. Thinking is very rare. I've got to do some myself, that's one reason why I'm going. You know, Mrs. Spaniel, God is a horizon, not someone sitting on a throne.” Mrs. Spaniel didn't understand this—in fact, she didn't seem to hear it. Her mind was full of the idea that she would simply have to have a new dress, preferably black silk, for Sundays. Gissing, very sagacious, had already foreseen this point. “Let's not have any argument,” he continued. “I have planned everything. Here is some money for immediate needs. I'll speak to them at the bank, and they will give you a weekly allowance. I leave you here as caretaker. Later on I'll send you an address and you can write me how things are going.”