“Dear Madam,—Please state terms and approximate age of self and daughter; also date when able to come.
“Yours faithfully,
“John Bradfield.”
Mrs. Abercarne felt stupefied, almost frightened.
“You said most likely he’d not even answer!” she said, reproachfully, to her daughter.
But Chris, who felt that the honour or the shame of this undertaking would devolve upon her, was full of excitement, and did not rest until she had hurried her mother into an answer intimating that they would be willing to become inmates of his house, and that Mrs. Abercarne would undertake the superintendence of his establishment for an honorarium of sixty pounds a year.
“As for telling him my age, Christina,” went on the lady, haughtily, “that I certainly shall not do. I consider the request most impertinent, and it seems to me to prove conclusively that, however well off he may be, this Mr. John Bradfield is not a gentleman.”
“Very well, mother; you didn’t need tell him your age; you can tell him mine. And then he can guess yours pretty nearly,” she added, with a mischievous laugh. “It looks rather as if we thought we were doing him a great favour by condescending to accept his money and live comfortably in his house, doesn’t it?” she said, when she had glanced through her mother’s letter.
This was exactly Mrs. Abercarne’s view of the transaction, and she was rather shocked to find that it was not also her daughter’s. So she tried hard to impress upon Chris, who listened dutifully and without comment, that when two women of gentle birth and breeding took upon themselves such an appointment, they were indeed conferring upon the individual whose humble duty it was to maintain them in such a position an honour and a priceless boon.
Chris, who was beginning secretly to indulge in the luxury of opinions of her own, grew rather anxious lest her mother’s peculiarities of style should frighten Mr. John Bradfield, and induce him to bestow the “appointment” in question upon some mother and daughter less well-born, perhaps, but at the same time less graciously condescending and more accommodating. She watched eagerly for the postman for the next few days, and when another letter did arrive in the neat, business-like hand, her fingers trembled as she ran with it to her mother. Then Chris noticed that Mrs. Abercarne, while still careful to affect the haughtiest indifference, was really as anxious as she as to the contents of the letter. Indeed, the poor lady had more debts and more difficulties than she let her child know anything about, and she was by this time wondering what would become of them if Mr. Bradfield should decide not to avail himself of her condescending offer.
This was the letter: