"We've got to give her up," he groaned.
His wife snatched the letter from him.
"Where's Mary?" she asked, quickly looking round before she said anything Mary ought not to hear.
"She's gone up to her attic to sow the seeds I bought her yesterday. She wanted to try sweet sultans this year. She's up in the attic sowing sweet sultans."
Mr. Fawcus buried his face in his hands and bent low in unutterable despair, while his wife read the lawyer's letter.
151 Lamb's Conduit Street, W.C.,
March 24, 1870.Dear Sir,
We are instructed by our Client, Lady Flower of Barton Hall, Barton Flowers, to say that she has decided to receive into her house her granddaughter, Miss Mary Flower. We beg to enclose in addition to the usual quarterly allowance of £25 a check for £50, in order that Miss Mary Flower may be suitably equipped for the journey to Paris, where Lady Flower is now living and where she wishes her granddaughter to join her. If you will give us a call at your earliest convenience, we shall be happy to provide you with any advice you may require in respect of the journey. Lady Flower desires us to thank you for the care you have taken of Miss Mary Flower and begs that if you have not already explained to her the peculiar circumstances in which you took charge of her you will do so now.
In case you may not be acquainted with the facts, we may add that a year after Mr. Edward Flower lost his life in the wreck of the Wizard Queen, his elder brother, Mr. John Flower, was killed in the hunting-field. By the death of Sir Richard Flower, which occurred last November, Lady Flower inherited the whole of his property and she is no doubt anxious to provide suitably for the youngest and only surviving member of the family.
Yours faithfully,
Hepper and Philcox.
Mrs. Fawcus went across to where her husband was still sitting with bowed head.
"William!" she murmured. It was the first time in thirty-five years of married life that she had dared to call him simply that.
"William!" she repeated more confidently, for the outward semblance of things had not been changed by her daring address. "You must write them a letter."
"It would be useless, my dear," he muttered without raising his head. "Useless, utterly and completely useless. A labor of Sisyphus, my love."