“One would never suppose it from your—your charming house,” said the Doctor. “I learned from my sister that your income was moderate, and your family numerous.”
“I have five children,” Mrs. Montgomery observed; “but I am happy to say I can bring them up decently.”
“Of course you can—accomplished and devoted as you are! But your brother has counted them over, I suppose?”
“Counted them over?”
“He knows there are five, I mean. He tells me it is he that brings them up.”
Mrs. Montgomery stared a moment, and then quickly—“Oh yes; he teaches them Spanish.”
The Doctor laughed out. “That must take a great deal off your hands! Your brother also knows, of course, that you have very little money.”
“I have often told him so!” Mrs. Montgomery exclaimed, more unreservedly than she had yet spoken. She was apparently taking some comfort in the Doctor’s clairvoyancy.
“Which means that you have often occasion to, and that he often sponges on you. Excuse the crudity of my language; I simply express a fact. I don’t ask you how much of your money he has had, it is none of my business. I have ascertained what I suspected—what I wished.” And the Doctor got up, gently smoothing his hat. “Your brother lives on you,” he said as he stood there.
Mrs. Montgomery quickly rose from her chair, following her visitor’s movements with a look of fascination. But then, with a certain inconsequence—“I have never complained of him!” she said.