“Well, sir, I don’t suppose it’ll be more’n a trifle he’ll send; and she’s got her work cut out to make both ends meet.”
“Then I suppose you gave her the money?”
Job shifted his feet uneasily.
“How did you intend to raise the money due for your rent, then?” demanded Nicholas less curtly.
Job left off fidgeting. He felt on safer ground here.
“It just meant a bit extra saved from each week,” he said eagerly. “You can do it if you’ve time. Boiling water poured into the morning teapot for evenings, and knock off your bit of bacon, and—well, there’s lots of ways, sir, and women is wonderful folk for managing, the best ones. Where it’s thought and trouble they’ll do it, and they’d be using strength too if they’d got it, but some of them hasn’t.”
“Hmm,” said Nicholas. He put up his hand to his mouth. “So you gave money you knew would never be repaid, knowing, too, that it meant possible homelessness.”
“You’d have done it yourself if you’d been in my place,” said the man bluntly.
“Should I?” said Nicholas half ironically. “I very much doubt it. Also what right had you to gamble with your wife’s happiness? You knew the risk you ran. You knew the—er, the rule regarding the rents. Job Grantley, you were a fool.”
Again the colour rushed to the man’s face.