Mrs. Newt’s whimpering broadened into crying. She sat weeping and wiping her eyes, in the way which used to draw down a storm from her husband. There was no storm now. Only the same placid stare—only the same measured refrain.
“Riches have wings! Riches have wings!”
Lawrence Newt laid his hand gently on his brother’s arm.
“Boniface, you did your best. We all did what we thought best and right.”
The old man turned his eyes from his wife and went on silently drumming, looking at the wall.
“Nancy,” said Lawrence, “as Mr. and Mrs. Bennet are about to be a part of the family, I see no reason for not saying to them that provision is made for your husband’s support. His affairs are as bad as they can be; but you and he shall not suffer. Of course you will leave this house, and—”
“Oh dear! What will people say? Nobody’ll come to see us in a small house. What will Mrs. Orry say?” interrupted Mrs. Newt.
“Let her say what she chooses, Nancy. What will honest people say to whom your husband owes honest debts, if you don’t try to pay them?”
“They are not my debts, and I don’t see why I should suffer for them,” said Mrs. Newt, vehemently, and crying. “When I married him he said I should ride in my carriage; and if he’s been a fool, why should I be a beggar?”
There was profound silence in the room.