“It is very kind of you, Letitia, to think of it.”
“Oh, as for that! and she would be so useful to me. I do feel sometimes the burden of all I have to do—the housekeeping—to make a good show on such a limited income, and to keep up one’s social duties; and then the children always wanting something. I don’t know how I have borne it so long without any help.”
“But I don’t see,” said John, “how having a friend in the house would mend that.”
“No,” said Letitia with a sigh; “I did not expect you to see it. But so long as I see it!—all I want is to make sure that you won’t go on as so many men do. ‘How long is that Miss Hill going to stay? I can never say a word to you without that Miss Hill hearing everything! Is that Miss Hill to be always here?’ Now you must have heard men going on just so, making their wives’ lives a burden.”
“I hope I shall never do that,” said John, mildly.
“Mind you don’t,” said Letitia. And that was all that was said. But when Miss Hill came next morning with a pretty flush of pleasure on her face, and her grey dress looking so prim and old-maidish, and everything about her showing a life arrested just at the point where Letitia had left her—Letitia who had made so much progress—Mrs. Parke’s resolution became firmer than ever. She showed her visitor all over the house, apologizing for its small size and imperfections. “We must put up with many things,” she said, “in our present circumstances, you know. Frogmore is very nice to us, but so long as he lives we can only have the second place.”
“I wish I had only a hundred times as much to put up with,” said Mary, smiling. “It all looks very delightful to me.”
“You should see Greenpark,” said Letitia. “We have a great deal more room there. But we are only in town for a short season, and, of course, I don’t bring all the children. Yes, baby is just about ten months. They are all troublesome children. They give me a great deal to do. I often think I shall die of it if it goes on long. And there you are, Mary, a lady of leisure at home with next to nothing to do.”
Mary’s countenance changed. “I have more than you think,” she said, “but not in your way.”
“Oh, no, not in my way. When you are not married you can form no idea of the troubles one has. But I do wonder you should stay at home when there is so little for you all. Your poor mother must grudge it so. Two daughters to feed and clothe and no likelihood of any change.”