“You ought to get a good post enough,” he said judicially, “but you mustn’t expect to keep yourself all at once unless you ‘live in’ somewhere!”
“If she goes to London at all,” Aunt Beryl said firmly, “she must go to Maria Nettleship.”
Of course. Maria Nettleship, the amie d’enfance of Aunt Beryl’s younger days, who still punctually exchanged letters with her, and was successfully managing a boarding-house in Bloomsbury.
“I should be happier about her with Maria Nettleship than if she was just ‘living in’ with goodness knows whom to keep her company. And it’s nicer, too, for a young girl like Lydia—you know what I mean,” said Aunt Beryl mysteriously.
“But a boarding-house is expensive. I never thought of anything like that, auntie. Why, I should cost you more than I would if I lived at home, a great deal,” said Lydia, aghast.
“Oh, I could easily make an arrangement with Maria Nettleship. And you want the chance, Lydia, my dear. I’m sure I don’t blame you. It’s not a good thing to stay in one place all one’s life long, I suppose.” Aunt Beryl gave a sigh. “It would be just an experiment for a little while, and I’m sure the expense isn’t to be thought of when we know you would be paying it all back in a year or two.”
“If it’s simply a question of the ready,” said Uncle George solemnly, “I can lay my hand on something at the minute. A bachelor has few expenses, and except for the little I make over to the house, I can put by a tidy little bit every year. I should look upon it as quite a profitable investment, Lydia, I assure you, to provide the needful on this occasion.”
“Oh, Uncle George—thank you very much. But haven’t I any money at all of my own without having to take yours?” cried Lydia, distressed.
Uncle George shook his head.
“Your poor mother was very unwise in the management of her affairs—very unwise indeed. There’s a matter of twenty or twenty-five pounds coming to you every year, Lydia, and that’s about all.”