"Because Mr. Pomeroy will be there also!" said Mr. Kelvin, like a man who could hardly believe his ears. "Who says that Mr. Pomeroy is going to Stammars?"
In the pressure of far more important matters, he had almost forgotten the existence of an individual of so little consequence as Jack Pomeroy.
"Why, Matthew, dear, I thought it was all arranged that as soon as you came home, Mr. Pomeroy was to be made Sir Thomas Dudgeon's secretary, or something of that kind; and Olive and I have advanced him fifty pounds to provide him with an outfit. You know you told me yourself that you didn't suppose he had a shilling in the world."
It tested all Mr. Kelvin's powers of self-control to keep down an explosion of temper. He remembered in time that any outbreak on his part would be sure to upset his mother and make her ill for several days, so for a minute or two he did not speak. He put down his knife and fork, and sipped at his claret, as if in deep thought.
"Fifty pounds is a great deal of money, mother," he said at last.
"It is a great deal of money, Matthew, of course; but Mr. Pomeroy understands that he is to pay the amount back out of his salary."
"The whole affair seems to be cut and dried, and I have not even spoken to Sir Thomas about the man!" he said, not without a touch of impatience. "For anything I know to the contrary, Sir Thomas may have filled up the situation himself, while I have been away."
"I am sorry, dear, if I have done anything against your wishes; but really I thought I was managing everything for the best."
Matthew Kelvin could see a tear in a corner of his mother's eye, and he could not bear that.
"There, there, mother, don't put yourself out of the way," he said. "Fifty pounds won't ruin us, even though we should never get a penny of it back."