If it had not been for Beatrice's
salary--she's behaved very well about the salary, has Beatrice--I am
sure I don't understand how the poor girl clothes herself on what she
keeps; I know that she had to go without a warm cloak this winter,
because she got a cough from it--we should have been in the workhouse,
and that's where we shall be yet," and he rubbed the back of his
withered hand across his eyes.
Geoffrey gasped. Beatrice with scarcely enough means to clothe
herself--Beatrice shivering and becoming ill from the want of a cloak
while _he_ lived in luxury! It made him sick to think of it. For a
moment he could say nothing.
"I have come here--I've come," went on the old man in a broken voice,
broken not so much by shame at having to make the request as from fear
lest it should be refused, "to ask you if you could lend me a little
money. I don't know where to turn, I don't indeed, or I would not do it,
Mr. Bingham. I have spent my last pound to get here. If you could lend
me a hundred pounds I'd give you note of hand for it and try to pay
it back little by little; we might take twenty pounds a year from
Beatrice's salary----"
"Don't, please--do not talk of such a thing!" ejaculated the horrified
Geoffrey.
Pages:
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320