Her story was of the simplest, and all knew it. Mr. Thompson had been the last and most feeble representative of a powerful dynasty of shop-keepers; at his death it became at once apparent that the grand old shop was nothing but an effete, played out, and utterly exhausted possession; his widow was left practically penniless, with an insolvent business to wind up, and an orphaned little girl to support and rear. And young Mrs. Thompson was ignorant of all business matters, knew nothing more of shops than can be learned by any shop-customer. Nevertheless, with indomitable energy, she threw herself into business life. She did not shut up Thompson's; she kept it going. In two years it was again a paying concern; in a few more years it was a stronger and more flourishing enterprise than it had ever been since its establishment in 1813; now it was immensely prosperous and a credit to the town.
They all knew how she had toiled until the success came, how generously she had used the money that her own force and courage earned—a large-minded, open-handed, self-reliant worker, combining a woman's endurance with a man's strength,—and only one weakness: the pampering devotion to her girl. She was making her daughter too much of a fine lady; she had extravagantly worshipped this idol; she had spoiled the long-nosed Enid. The town knew all about that.
Bowing to right and to left, Mrs. Thompson drove up Hill Street, and then stopped the carriage outside the offices of Mr. Prentice, solicitor and commissioner of oaths.
"Only two or three words with him, Enid. I promise not to be more than five minutes."
Mr. Prentice came to the carriage door; and was asked to read the letter from Mr. Bence the fancy draper.
"Don't you think it's rather impertinent?"
"Of course I do," said Mr. Prentice. "I wouldn't answer it. Throw it into the waste-paper basket."
"Oh, no, I shall answer it ... I can't allow Mr. Bence to suppose that I should ever be afraid of him."
"Afraid of him!" And Mr. Prentice laughed contemptuously. "You afraid of such a little bounder.... Look here. Shall I go round and kick the brute?"
Mrs. Thompson laughed, too. "No, no," she said, "that would scarcely be professional."