“I do not think that this one would have been any great loss,” rather grimly replied her son. “It’s a begging-letter, isn’t it?”
Lady Argent took out sundry enclosures, glanced through them and exclaimed triumphantly:
“Not at all! In fact it’s just the contrary. It’s from those Sisters in Dublin, offering me tickets in their great charity lottery, and with a list of the prizes. It’s really quite wonderful—a wonderful opportunity,” repeated Lady Argent, with more wistfulness than conviction in her tone.
Ludovic took the badly typewritten strip of paper from her hand.
“A live pig, six months old. A harmonium in perfect repair. A table-centre for the parlour—I should certainly have a try for that, mother, it would improve the drawing-room; coloured statue of St. Joseph standing four feet high, etc., etc. Tickets sixpence, ninepence, or a shilling.”
“It’s to pay off the debt on their new church, dear,” replied his mother. “You remember the account of the opening ceremony that I read you from The Tablet the other day? So very nice and edifying, but I’m afraid they spent rather more than they meant to. At any rate they are some eight hundred pounds in debt over it, I believe, and no doubt this charity bazaar is to clear some of it off.”
“Raffles are illegal,” quoth Ludovic severely, “and I don’t think you should encourage them, mother. Please help me to persuade my mother that charity begins at home, Miss Frances.”
The modern fashion by which any man becomes entitled to use the Christian name of any girl spending a week in his mother’s house, failed altogether to commend itself to Ludovic Argent.
“The Canon is always in difficulties here, and would be very glad of money for some of the poor people.”
“Oh, my dear,” cried Lady Argent. “I am torn in two as you very well know, and the Canon has been a friend of ours for a number of years, but how can I encourage the spread of Protestantism?”