“I have heard of ladies working for fancy-shops; do you think we could do something of that kind?” asked Nan, anxiously. “Even mother could help us in that; and Dulce does work so beautifully. It is all very well to say we have no accomplishments,” went on Nan, with apathetic little laugh, “but you know that no other girls work as we do. We have always made our own dresses. And Lady Fitzroy asked me once who was our dressmaker, because she fitted us so exquisitely; and I was so proud of telling her that we always did our own, with Dorothy to help––”
“Nan,” interrupted Phillis, eagerly, and there was a great softness in her whole mien, and her eyes were glistening,—“dear Nan, do you love us all so that you could give up the whole world for our sakes,—for the sake of living together, I mean?”
Nan hesitated. Did the whole world involve Dick, and could even her love for her sisters induce her voluntarily to give him up? Phillis, who was quick-witted, read the doubt in a moment, and hastened to qualify her words:
“The outside world, I mean,—mere conventional acquaintances, not friends. Do you think you could bear to set society at defiance, to submit to be sent to Coventry for our sakes; to do without it, in fact to live in a little world of our own and make ourselves happy in it?”
“Ah, Phillis, you are so clever, and I don’t understand you,” faltered Nan. It was not Dick she was to give up; but what could Phillis mean? “We are all fond of society; we are like other girls, I suppose. But if we are to be poor and work for our living, I dare say people will give us up.”
“I am not meaning that,” returned her sister, earnestly; “it is something far harder, something far more difficult, something that will be a great sacrifice and cost us all tremendous efforts. But if we are to keep a roof over our heads, if we are to live together in anything like comfort, I don’t see what else we can do, unless we go out as companions and leave mother and Dulce in lodgings.”
“Oh, no, no; pray don’t leave us!” implored Dulce, feeling that all her strength and comfort lay near Nan.
“I will not leave you, dear, if I can possibly help it,” returned Nan, gently. “Tell us what you mean, Phillis, for I see you have some sort of plan in your head. There is nothing,—nothing,” she continued, more firmly, “that I would not do to make mother and Dulce happy. Speak out; you are half afraid that I shall prove a coward, but you shall see.” 58
“Dear Nan, no; you are as brave as possible. I am rather a coward myself. Yes; I have a plan; but you have yourself put it into my head by saying what you did about Lady Fitzroy.”
“About Lady Fitzroy?”