‘Who is it from?’
‘Lady Tresham! Her generosity seems to be on a par with his! You see how she writes me word that Sir Ralph is in Switzerland mountain-climbing with Handley Harcourt, but that if he were at home she fears he would be unlikely to comply with my request.’
‘Did you ask Ralph for money then?’
‘Not as a gift. I wrote to him for a loan of fifty pounds, to carry on the war, but of course I should regard it as a debt. The fact is, Valeria, I don’t know where to look for money; my profession brings me in nothing, and we cannot live on the miserable pittance my father left me. It is simply impossible!’
If Roland Tresham has entertained any hope that, on hearing of his difficulty, his rich sister will offer to lend or give him the money, which would be a trifle out of her pocket, he has reckoned without his host. She likes Roland in her way, and is always pleased to see him in her house, but the woman and the children may starve for aught she will do to help them. She considers them only in the light of a burthen and disgrace.
‘I don’t see why you shouldn’t live on two hundred a-year,’ she answers shortly. ‘Of course it is very little, but if your wife were worth her salt she would make you comfortable on it. But that is what comes of marrying a beauty. They’re seldom good for anything else.’
‘There’s not much beauty left about Juliet now,’ replies Roland Tresham, ‘but I don’t think it is entirely her fault. The children worry her so, she has no energy left to do anything.’
‘It’s a miserable plight to be in,’ sighs the Honourable Mrs Carnaby-Hicks, ‘and I can see how it tells upon your health and spirits. What do you propose to do?’