“Yes, Miss,” said Mrs. Scott in a tone which implied that Grace might talk and she herself might listen, but that her opinions would remain the same.
And indeed is this not always the case? Is it not always when talking and listening are signally useless that opinions alter?
“Supposing,” said Grace, a little fluttered by reason of her own boldness, “I went to Dublin and said I must have a new piano.”
“Likely you will some day,” agreed Mrs. Scott, as her visitor paused for a moment and hesitated.
“And suppose for the sake of argument,” went on Grace, “I decided to spend a hundred pounds.”
“It would be a heap of money,” commented her auditor.
“Or fifty, or twenty,” said Miss Moffat, seeing her mistake; “say twenty pounds; and that I chose a piano and told the man where to send it, and paid him the money and took no receipt for it. After I leave, another person sees the same piano, likes it, pays the money, and gets a receipt. Shortly I begin to wonder why the instrument is not sent home, and I write to the seller. I receive an answer saying he is dead, and that no one knows anything about the matter except that the piano I mention has been sold and delivered to Mr. So-and-so. Now such a case would be undoubtedly a hard one for me, but I should never think of throwing good money after bad in trying to put spilt milk back into a basin; and yet this is what Amos persists in attempting. Do you understand what I mean?”
“You speak very clever, Miss Grace,” was the reply.
“I am afraid I do not speak at all cleverly,” said her visitor. “I wish any words of mine could persuade Amos and you how utterly useless it is for you to continue the resistance he has begun.”
“Would you have him give up everything, then, Miss, and see us turned out on the world—we who have always tried to keep decent and respectable as you know, Miss Grace?”