The sisters were silent for some moments after he had left them. Margaret was refreshing her flowers—the flowers which Philip had brought in from the garden the day before. How precious were they now, even above other flowers brought by the same hand—for not another blossom was left in the desolate garden! Margaret was resolving silently that she would keep these alive as long as she could, and then dry them in memory of the place they came from, in its wedding trim. Hester presently showed the direction her thoughts had taken, by saying—
“I should think that it must be always possible for able and industrious people, in health, to obtain bread.”
“Almost always possible, provided they can cast pride behind them.”
“Ah! I suspect that pride is the real evil of poverty—of gentlefolks’ poverty. I could not promise for my own part, to cast pride behind me: but then, you know, it has pleased God to give me something to be proud of, far different from rank and money. I could go to jail or the workhouse with my husband without a blush. The agony of it would not be from pride.”
“Happily, we are sure of bread, mere bread,” said Margaret, “for the present, and for what we call certainty. What you and I have is enough for bread.”
“What I have can hardly be called sufficient for even that,” said Hester: “and you—I must speak my thankfulness for that—you will soon be out of the reach of such considerations.”
“Not soon: and I cannot separate my life from yours—I cannot fancy it. Do not let us fancy it just now.”
“Well, we will not. I am glad Susan has warning from me to go. It is well that we began retrenching so soon. We must come to some full explanation with Morris, that we may see what can best be done for her.”
“She will never leave you while you will let her stay.”
“It may be necessary to dismiss Charles. But we will wait to talk that over with my husband. He will tell us what we ought to do. Was that a knock at the door?”