“As much, I think, as when your son and daughter were in frocks and pinafores, and wearing out their clothes with romping and climbing. Does Hester send down her husband’s shirts for you to make and mend?”
“She might, for that matter,” replied the widow; “for she is kept very busy at her drawing; but I cannot persuade her to do more than let me work for Philip, who should be no charge on her hands, you know. She lets me make for Philip, but not mend. These things are not his.”
Melea’s look of inquiry asked whose they were: to which the widow bashfully replied, that Mr. Pye had no one but his washerwoman to see after his linen, and so had been persuaded, as he was very neat and exact, to let an old friend go once a week, and look out what wanted mending. She was sure Melea would think no harm of this.
None in the world, Melea said. It was pleasant to see old friends pay kind offices to one another,—especially two who seemed to be left alone to each other’s care, like Mr. Pye and Mrs. Parndon. She did not know what would become of Mr. Pye without Mrs. Parndon, and she had no doubt he did friendly service in his turn. The widow smiled, and shook her head, and observed, that indeed Enoch did need somebody to watch over him. He was growing very deaf, though, poor man, he did not like to allow it; and it was very desirable to have some one at his elbow, to set him right in his little mistakes, and to give customers and strangers a hint to speak up if they wished to have their business properly done.
“It is a pity you cannot carry your work basket to his counter, these fine mornings, instead of sitting here for hours all by yourself,” observed Melea. “I have no doubt, Mr. Pye would thank you for your company.”
Mrs. Parndon had no doubt either; but the thing was quite out of the question. It would be highly improper. What would not all Haleham say, if she began such a practice?
Melea begged pardon, and went on to ask about Hester. She had not been aware that Hester had gone on drawing much since she married.[married.]
The widow sighed, and observed, that times were worse for people in Edgar’s line of employment than any one would suppose who saw how the farmers were flourishing. The higher some people rose, the lower others fell: as she had good reason to know; and could, therefore, bear testimony that there was now little real prosperity, however some might boast. The Martins, for instance, were growing rich at a mighty rate, and would have laid by quite a little fortune before their lease was out; while she, an economical widow, with what everybody once thought a pretty provision for life, found her income worth less and less every year, just when, for her children’s sake, she should like it to be more, and heaven knew she was likely to have use enough for it now. Melea did not venture to ask the meaning of this, or of the heavy sigh which followed. She merely inquired whether Edgar did not retain his situation at the Mint “O, yes; but salaries were nothing now to what they were; and it was expensive living in London, even though the young people lived in the upper part of Philip’s house, for mutual accommodation; that Philip, poor Philip, might have a respectable-looking, showy shop, and Edgar and his wife have rather less to pay than for a floor in a stranger’s house.” Melea was very sorry to find that the young people had to think so much about economy: she had hoped that that would never be necessary.
“Why, Miss Melea, young men have expenses; and they don’t think so much as their wives about suiting them to the times. And so the wives,—that is, such wives as my Hester,—feel that they should help to fill the purse, if they can. So, she says, she was far from being hurt when Edgar gave her notice, some months ago, that he should wish her to look for employment again, of the same sort that she had before her marriage. The only thing that hurt her was, that it was so long before she could get anything that would pay; for the publishers are overrun with artists, they declare. She would fain have worked for Mr. Pye, as before; but I would not let her say anything about that; nor Philip either: for people here all have the idea of her having made a fine match, (as indeed it is, when one thinks of Edgar,) and it would not look well for her to be taking money from Mr. Pye, as if she was still Hester Parndon.”
“O, poor Hester!” thought Melea, who could scarcely restrain her grief at this series of unexpected disclosures. “With an expensive husband, a proud brother, a selfish mother, you are driven to seek the means of getting money, and thwarted in the seeking! O, poor Hester!”