She thought all this before she saw Charlotte Harman. Then the gracious face, the noble bearing, the kindly and sweet manner of this girl of her own age, this girl who might have been her dearest friend, who was so nearly related to her, filled her with sudden bitterness; she believed herself immeasurably inferior to Miss Harman, and yet she knew that she might have been such another. She left the house with a mingled feeling of relief and bitterness. She was earning present money. What might she not discover to benefit her husband and children by and by?
In the evening, unable to keep her thoughts to herself, she told them and her story for the first time to her husband. Instantly he tore the veil from her eyes. Was she, his wife, to go to her own brother's house as a spy? No! a thousand times no! No wealth, however needed, would be worth purchasing at such a price. If Charlotte could not banish from her mind these unworthy thoughts, she must give up so excellent a means of earning money.
Poor Charlotte! The thoughts her husband considered so mean, so untrue, so unworthy, had become by this time part of her very being. Oh! must the children suffer because unrighteous men enjoyed what was rightfully theirs?
For the first time, the very first time in all her life, she felt discontented with her Angus. If only he were a little more everyday, a little more practical; if only he would go to the bottom of this mystery, and set her mind at rest!
She went about her morning duties in a state of mental friction and aggravation, and, as often happens, on this very morning when she seemed least able to bear it, came the proverbial last straw. Anne, the little maid, put in her head at the parlor door.
"Ef you please, 'em, is Harold to wear 'em shoes again? There's holes through and through of 'em, and it's most desp'rate sloppy out of doors this mornin'."
Mrs. Home took the little worn-out shoes in her hand; she saw at a glance that they were quite past mending.
"Leave them here, Anne," she said. "You are right, he cannot wear these again. I will go out at once and buy him another pair."
The small maid disappeared, and Charlotte put her hand into her pocket. She drew out her purse with a sinking heart. Was there money enough in it to buy the necessary food for the day's consumption, and also to get new shoes for Harold? A glance showed her but too swiftly there was not. She never went on credit for anything—the shoes must wait, and Harold remain a prisoner in the house that day. She went slowly up to the nursery: Daisy and baby could go out and Harold should come down to the parlor to her.
But one glance at her boy's pale face caused her heart to sink. He was a handsome boy—she thought him aristocratic, fit to be the son of a prince—but to-day he was deadly pale, with that washy look which children who pine for fresh air so often get. He was standing in rather a moping attitude by the tiny window; but at sight of his mother he flew to her.