"Oh yes," assented Fanny, "I should, of course, when I could afford it. But you said this morning I owed you money for my things; but if aunt sent that money and stuff for me, it can't be much, not worth talking about."
"No, not worth talking about," repeated Mrs. Brown, in a mechanical tone. But as she said the words a chill seemed to creep over her, as though a great gulf had all at once arisen between her and her dear child Fanny, separating them and putting a stranger in the place of the girl she had been so proud to call "my Fanny" only a few hours before.
There was silence between the two for a minute after this, and Fanny vaguely felt that she had hurt her mother, but still with the thought of all the money she owed for the watch, she wanted to be quite clear as to what her mother could claim from her, and so she said—
"Of course, I hope you will be able to send Eliza away all right, and she is welcome to the muslin aunt sent for me, and to all the clothes I left at home, but I don't think I shall be able to give you any money as well."
"No, Fanny, I shall never ask for it or expect it again."
Mrs. Brown said these last words with a tremor in her voice, and as soon as Fanny had reached the end of her walk, she kissed her and bade her good night, and turned to walk up the garden path without another word.
Halfway back Mrs. Brown met her husband, who had come straight from his work to walk home with her.
"Why, what is it, mother? Haven't you anything to tell me about our girl?"
For answer Mrs. Brown said, "I'm tired, Tom. This walk has been almost too much for me, I think. I can't talk about anything to-night."
"Come along, then; take my arm. Never mind the dirty jacket. I will help you home, and you shall go straight to bed, or else you will be having one of your bad headaches, and we can't afford that just now, can we?"