The pecuniary result would be (adding the husband’s income to the wife’s) about eight thousand a year for the young married people.
And how much for a loan, applicable to the mother-in-law’s creditors? Judging Carmina by the standard of herself—by what other standard do we really judge our fellow-creatures, no matter how clever we may be?—Mrs. Gallilee decided that not one farthing would be left to help her to pay debts, which were steadily increasing with every new concession that she made to the claims of society. Young Mrs. Ovid Vere, at the head of a household, would have the grand example of her other aunt before her eyes. Although her place of residence might not be a palace, she would be a poor creature indeed, if she failed to spend eight thousand a year, in the effort to be worthy of the social position of Lady Northlake. Add to these results of Ovid’s contemplated marriage the loss of a thousand a year, secured to the guardian by the Will, while the ward remained under her care—and the statement of disaster would be complete. “We must leave this house, and submit to be Lady Northlake’s poor relations—there is the price I pay for it, if Ovid and Carmina become man and wife.”
She quietly laid aside her fan, as the thought in her completed itself in this form.
The trivial action, and the look which accompanied it, had a sinister meaning of their own, beyond the reach of words. And Ovid was already on the sea. And Teresa was far away in Italy.
The clock on the mantelpiece struck five; the punctual parlour-maid appeared with her mistress’s customary cup of tea. Mrs. Gallilee asked for the governess. The servant answered that Miss Minerva was in her room.
“Where are the young ladies?”
“My master has taken them out for a walk.”
“Have they had their music lesson?”
“Not yet, ma’am. Mr. Le Frank left word yesterday that he would come at six this evening.”
“Does Mr. Gallilee know that?”