"I shall certainly get it;" and Thorold's eyes flashed with triumph as he spoke; at such moments his face was full of expression. "It will be a big case, Joa, and Sergeant Rivington will be leading counsel on our side." And then again he told himself that his foot was on the rung of the ladder, and that he had begun to climb in earnest.
"I am very glad, Theo;" and Joanna's blue eyes were rather tearful. She and Tristram had often called him Theo, but she seldom used the old pet name now. Thorold smiled a little sadly as he heard it.
"I knew you would be pleased, dear;" and his voice softened. "It will make a great difference to our income. Joa, I have made up my mind that the last of the debts shall be paid off before Christmas, and we will begin the New Year free and untrammelled. There shall be an end of all your small peddling economies. We shall not be rich, but at least we need not hoard our cheese-parings and candle-ends."
"I do not know what you mean, Thorold!" returned Joanna, in a puzzled tone. "We never use candles except in the coal cellar."
Then Thorold gave a grim, unmirthful laugh. If he ever married, the lady of his choice should have some sense of humour; nothing is more harassing and trying to the temper than to have to talk down to the level of one's daily companion. Althea once said, rather wittily, that Joa's brains were like a nutmeg-grater—one had to rub one's nutmeg very hard before the spicy fragments would filter through it.
"Perhaps we may have a better house soon!" he said, after a pause. "I should like to be out of the town and higher up the hill. The air is fresher, and it would be quieter."
"Oh, yes, much quieter!" Joanna smiled, and a pretty dimple came into view; at that moment she looked almost like a girl.
"We must wait for our good things a little," continued Thorold; "but there is no need for us to stint ourselves. And Joa," here he hesitated—"why should you not smarten yourself up a bit. Get one or two new dresses, or any fal-lals you require"—for his keen, observant eyes had noticed that the old lilac silk that Joanna always wore of an evening, a relic of the old Manor House days, was faded and darned, and of obsolete fashion. He was a man who was always keenly alive to the wants and wishes of his womankind. But even as he made the suggestion, he wondered why Joanna was hoarding her five hundred pounds, and why she should not use a few pounds to replenish her scanty wardrobe. He knew, and had been very angry when he heard it, that Althea had actually presented her with a beautiful dress, for church; because she said Joa was too miserly to spend a penny on herself.
Joanna blushed slightly when Thorold made his good-natured proposition. "You are very kind, Theo," she said, gently, as she folded her white, nervous-looking hands over her skein, "but I go out so seldom, that I do not require many new dresses. I have Althea's merino, and"—eyeing her lilac silk complacently—"there is plenty of wear to be got out of my old gown yet!"
"Well, you know best," returned Thorold, indifferently. If he had stated his opinion candidly, he would have suggested that the gown in question should be relegated to Jemima or the rag-bag. Well, he had done his part nobly; and now he might take up Guizot's Life. But the next moment Joanna's plaintive tones arrested him.