“Well, as things are going on so nicely, I suppose we shall see you at our place soon,” said Mrs. Brand. “I should think you ought to take Charlie for some drives before the weather gets cold. It would be a good thing for him to have a real change. It might have saved much, if only he had taken one in time. Jem and I are thinking of running down to Brighton next Saturday. Jem can stay till Tuesday morning, and maybe I’ll persuade him to leave me there for a day or two longer. It’s such a rest to get away from one’s housekeeping and one’s children and one’s callers! I can assure you I’m a very busy woman, Lucy,” she laughed, “though I see by your face that you don’t believe it. I might well envy you your nice homely little house, with only Pollie to control. Why, our table decorations alone are a perpetual worry, and the cook’s temper is awful. Ta-ta! Don’t bring Charlie to see us till I am sure to be back at home.”
They parted and Lucy Challoner went on. The little interview had not done her good. She began to feel that she was very tired—tired in body now, and tired in soul, with the sense of a steep duty stretching before her.
But when she turned the corner of Pelham Street, and saw the cheery light streaming from the windows both within and above the verandah, her feet felt lighter. Ten minutes later, presiding over the little tea-table drawn up beside her husband’s couch, Lucy Challoner was again her dauntless self, prepared to extract its uttermost from every pleasant possibility.
She brought out her purse with a dramatic air of mystery.
“Do you see this little article, Charlie,” she said. “Look at it!”
“Why, it’s the old purse I gave you during our honeymoon,” he answered in his invalid’s whisper. “Poor little girl, if I had been able to put more in it, it would have been worn out by this time!”
“Oh, never mind that nonsense,” said she. “This purse held five shillings when I went out this afternoon. What do you think it holds now?”
“Not more than four-and-sixpence I hope,” he replied, “for you have been out so long, that I trust you have treated yourself at least to a sixpenny bus fare.”
“Sir, do not trifle,” she said demurely. “Guess again. I brought home more, not less. You give it up? Well, this purse now contains three pounds eight shillings. I did not spend a penny, and Messrs. Mapp have sold my little sketch of the old Surrey mill and have handed me three guineas for it.”
“And a very good bargain somebody got,” remarked Charlie, who was straightway called “an ungrateful man.” “I should like to keep all your pictures to myself,” he said.