Jock’s revelations were very unsatisfactory. It was just as sensible, she thought to pursue the sunshine, and follow the point where the sky must touch, as to get any light thrown upon the one point which she was anxious to investigate. Lucy’s mind had been greatly exercised upon this subject. It was impossible to mistake the signs of growing poverty and squalor in the house, and she, who felt that she had in her hand the power of turning anxiety and trouble into ease, was greatly disturbed, not knowing what to do.
Mrs. Russell’s eyes were generally red now; but then they were weak, she said; and the house got to look more and more untidy. It was a begrimed little maid who opened the door, and the red-haired boy was gone, and the one who squinted, and the little fellow with the curls. Lucy went in with her brother, when they had finished their ride, and was met by the mistress of the house, all tremulous, clasping and unclasping her hands, with a nervous smile.
“You must rest a little, Miss Trevor,” she said, “after your long ride, and take something; won’t you take something? I have made a little space in the drawing-room,” she added, seeing, with the quick instinct of the unfortunate, that Lucy’s eye had been caught by the big vacancy in the room, which had never been too full of furniture; “my poor piano, it was too big, much too big. I did not like to part with it, it was a relic of the days when—my rooms were not so small,” she said, with a pretense at a smile. “But you will be glad to hear, Miss Trevor, we have heard of a much better house, when— I mean as soon as—we are quite sure about the book.”
“It will not be long now?” said Lucy. “Mr. Bertie told me the printing was very nearly done.”
“No, it will not be long. We might take it now, for that matter, for I don’t entertain any doubt on the subject. But Bertie is always so modest. Bertie insists that we must make quite sure. You see, Miss Trevor, a work like his, a work of imagination, succeeds at once, if it is going to succeed,” she added, with a little laugh. “Other kinds of books may take a long time to gain the public ear, but that—one knows directly. So I say to Bertie, we really might venture. It is just round the corner, Miss Trevor, a much larger, handsomer house. But, on the other hand, this is a long way from the center of everything. It might be better to move into Mayfair, or even Belgravia. He will want to be nearer the world. So, on the whole, we think it best to wait a little; and it does not do to move in the season, everything is so dear.”
“And the little boys?” said Lucy. Her mind was bewildered by the contrast between what she was hearing and the visible signs of misery around.
“Oh,” said Mrs. Russell, “as for Jock, you must not trouble yourself in the least. We are quite fond of him, he is such a little original. And Mary is very independent-minded; she will never take anything from her brother, though a better brother never existed! Mary will want something to occupy her, and so long as I have a roof over my head, little Jock shall never want a home. You may be quite easy on that point. I am telling Miss Trevor, Mary, that we are thinking of removing,” she said, as her daughter came in.
Mary did not look in high spirits.
“Are you, mamma? I should not mind the house, if other things were comfortable,” Mary said. Her eyes were heavy, as if she had been weeping, and she avoided Lucy’s look.
“That is because some of the little boys are going away,” said Mrs. Russell nervously. “Mary is always so anxious. We shall be glad to rid of them, my love, when Bertie’s book is out.”