Mr. Prosser made up a dinner
party for them, and had taken them to an evening party or two--at
least, Eustace; for after the first Harold had declined, and had
spent his time in wandering about London by gas-light, and standing
on the bridges, or trying how far it was on each side to green
fields, and how much misery lay between.
Eustace had evidently been made much of, and had enjoyed himself
greatly. It grieved me that his first entrance into society should
be under no better auspices than those of the family solicitor; but
he did not yet perceive this, and was much elated. "I flatter myself
it was rather a success," was the phrase he had brought home, apropos
to everything he had worn or done, from his tie to his shoe-buckles.
He told me the price of everything, all the discussions with his
tradesmen, and all the gazes fixed on him, with such simplicity that
I could not help caring, and there sat Harold in his corner,
apparently asleep, but his eye now and then showing that he was
thinking deeply.
"Lucy," he said, as we bade one another good-night, "is nothing being
done?"
"About what?" I asked.
"For all that wretchedness."
"Oh yes, there are all sorts of attempts," and I told him of model
cottages, ragged schools, and the like, and promised to find him the
accounts; but he gave one of his low growls, as if this were but a
mockery of the direful need.
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