It was a queer meal, half ludicrous, half despairing, that first little tea-party in Dull Street. They tried to be gay. Reginald declared that the tea his mother poured out was far better than any the footman at Garden Vale used to dispense. Horace tried to make fun of the heterogeneous cups and saucers. Mrs Cruden tried hard to appear as though she was taking a hearty meal, while she tasted nothing. But it was a relief when the girl reappeared and cleared the table.
Then they unpacked their few belongings, and tried to enliven their dreary lodgings with a few precious mementoes of happier days. Finally, worn out in mind and body, they took shelter in bed, and for a blessed season forgot all their misery and forebodings in sleep.
There is no magic equal to that which a night’s sleep will sometimes work. The little party assembled cheerfully at the breakfast-table next morning, prepared to face the day bravely.
A large letter, in Mr Richmond’s handwriting, lay on Mrs Cruden’s plate. It contained three letters—one from the lawyer himself, and one for each of the boys from Wilderham. Mr Richmond’s letter was brief and business-like.
“Dear Madam,—Enclosed please find two letters, which I found lying at Garden Vale yesterday. With regard to balance of your late husband’s assets in your favour, I have an opportunity of investing same at an unusually good rate of interest in sound security. Shall be pleased to wait on you with particulars. Am also in a position to introduce the young gentlemen to a business opening, which, if not at first important, may seem to you a favourable opportunity. On these points I shall have the honour of waiting on you during to-morrow afternoon, and meanwhile beg to remain,—
“Your obedient servant,—
“R. Richmond.”
“We ought to make sure what the investment is,” said Reginald, after hearing the letter read, “before we hand over all our money to him.”
“To be sure, dear,” said Mrs Cruden, who hated the sound of the word investment.
“I wonder what he proposes for us?” said Horace. “Some clerkship, I suppose.”