"There might be things to increase expenses," persisted Mrs. Jones, maintaining her ground as usual. "Children, for instance."
Roland stared with all his eyes. "Children!"
"It would be within the range of possibility, I suppose, Mr. Yorke. Your brother Gerald has some."
"Oh law!" cried Roland, his countenance falling.
"And nobody knows what a trouble they are and how much they cost--except those who have tried it. A regular flock of them may come trooping down before you are well aware."
The vista presented to Roland was one his sanguine thoughts had never so much as glanced at. A flock of children had not appeared to him less likely to arrive, than that he should set up a flock of parrots; and he candidly avowed it.
"But we shouldn't want any children, Mrs. J."
Mrs. J. gave a rather derisive sniff. "I've known them that want the fewest get bothered with the most."
Roland had not another word to answer. He was pulling his whiskers in much gloom when Miss Rye was heard to enter. Mrs. Jones began to roll her work together, preparatory to retiring for the night.
"Look here, Mrs. Jones. I'm uncommon fond of children--you should see how I love that sweet Nelly Channing--I'd not mind if I had a score about the place; but what becomes of the little monkeys when there's no bread and cheese to feed them on?"