“She did not show me the answer; but, from what I have collected from her conversation, she has written a most haughty, and, I presume it will be said, a most impertinent letter to both the ladies; the one to Lady Scrimmage accompanied with her bill, which has not been paid these three years. I am sorry that my mother has been annoyed. My father, to whom I related what had taken place, told me that my mother was very ill treated by Lady Hercules, and that she had smothered her resentment with the hopes of benefiting her children by her patronage; but that was at a time when she little expected to be so prosperous as she is now.”
“It is all true, my dear girl; I recollect my father telling me the whole story. However, I presume my mother, now that she can venture upon defiance, has not failed to resort to it.”
“That I am convinced of. I only hope that she will carry her indignation against great people so far as not to court them as she has done, and abandon all her ridiculous ideas of making a match for me. After all, she has my welfare sincerely at heart, and, although mistaken in the means of securing it, I cannot but feel that she is actuated solely by her love for me.”
We then changed the conversation to Janet, about whom I could now speak calmly; after which I narrated to her what had occurred during the night, and my intention to consult with my father and Anderson upon the subject.
Virginia then left me that she might assist her mother, and I hastened to my father’s ward, where I found him, and, after our first greeting, requested that he would accompany me to Anderson’s office, as I had something to communicate to them both. As I walked along with my father I perceived Spicer at a corner with his foot on a stone step and his hand to his knee, as if in pain. At last he turned round and saw us. I walked up to him, and he appeared a little confused as he said, “Ah! Tom, is that you? I did not know you were at Greenwich.”
“I came here last night,” replied I; “and I must be off again soon. Are you lame?”
“Lame! No; what should make me lame?” replied he, walking by the side of us as if he were not so.
I looked at his coat, and perceived that the third button on the right side was missing.
“You’ve lost a button, Spicer,” observed I.
“So I have,” replied he; and, as we had now arrived at Anderson’s door, my father and I turned from him to walk in and wished him good bye.