“A clerk’s income would not be more than £100 a year, my lady.”
“To begin with—no; certainly not more.” The lady was growing brief.
“If my son puts by the half of that yearly, he can hardly support himself and his mother, my lady.”
“Half of that yearly, Mrs. Harrington?”
“He would have to do so, and be saddled till he dies, my lady.”
“I really cannot see why.”
Lady Racial had a notion of some excessive niggardly thrift in the widow, which was arousing symptoms of disgust.
Mrs. Harrington quietly said: “There are his father’s debts to pay, my lady.”
“His father’s debts!”
“Under £5000, but above £4000, my lady.”