“Whatever you do,” said Mrs. Saltren, “mind that we live in the West End. Why don’t you go to Shepherd’s Bush, near the Welshes? A man of my brother’s political and literary position must have hosts of distinguished acquaintances, and a woman of Tryphœna’s accomplishments and beauty must have the entrée into the highest circles. If we lived near them we might get good introductions. If we don’t get settled to my liking shortly in a fashionable quarter of town, I do not know but that I may return to Orleigh.”
“Return to Orleigh!” echoed the son, “why, mother, I thought that your desire had been to leave it. Besides, we have not a house there any more.”
“I know we have not,” answered his mother, “but what we may be without, it is possible that I might secure.”
“I do not understand,” said Jingles.
“I think,” said Mrs. Saltren, “that it is proper the money paid by the railway company for Chillacot should be put into the bank in my name and not in yours.”
“I have already told you, mother,” said Giles, “that I will not touch it myself. I consider it yours, not mine.”
“But I have not the disposal of it.”
“Indeed, mother, you have; it is entered in your name, not in mine, already. I have no account at the bank at all.”
“How can you talk nonsense,” said Mrs. Saltren; “you have all your savings—quite a fortune—which you got at the Park whilst tutor to young Giles.”
“My dear mother, I had not the time to accumulate a fortune. I was tutor there for eighteen months and what I saved was a hundred and twenty-five pounds, and that sum is already disposed of.”