Evan Harrington | Page 9

her, aunt!'
The widow's reply was simply, 'Don't be a fool, Ann!'
Rising, she said: 'Here, take poor Jacko, and comfort him till I come
back.'
Jacko was a middle-sized South American monkey, and had been a pet
of her husband's. He was supposed to be mourning now with the rest of
the family. Mrs. Fiske received him on a shrinking lap, and had found
time to correct one of his indiscretions before she could sigh and say, in
the rear of her aunt's retreating figure, 'I certainly never would let
myself, down so'; but Mrs. Harrington took her own counsel, and Jacko
was of her persuasion, for he quickly released himself from Mrs.
Fiske's dispassionate embrace, and was slinging his body up the
balusters after his mistress.

'Mrs. Harrington,' said Lady Racial, very sweetly swimming to meet
her as she entered the room, 'I have intruded upon you, I fear, in
venturing to call upon you at such a time?'
The widow bowed to her, and begged her to be seated.
Lady Racial was an exquisitely silken dame, in whose face a winning
smile was cut, and she was still sufficiently youthful not to be accused
of wearing a flower too artificial.
'It was so sudden! so sad!' she continued. 'We esteemed him so much. I
thought you might be in need of sympathy, and hoped I might--Dear
Mrs. Harrington! can you bear to speak of it?'
'I can tell you anything you wish to hear, my lady,' the widow replied.
Lady Racial had expected to meet a woman much more like what she
conceived a tradesman's wife would be: and the grave reception of her
proffer of sympathy slightly confused her. She said:
'I should not have come, at least not so early, but Sir Jackson, my
husband, thought, and indeed I imagined--You have a son, Mrs.
Harrington? I think his name is--'
'Evan, my lady.'
'Evan. It was of him we have been speaking. I imagined that is, we
thought, Sir Jackson might--you will be writing to him, and will let him
know we will use our best efforts to assist him in obtaining some
position worthy of his--superior to--something that will secure him
from the harassing embarrassments of an uncongenial employment.'
The widow listened to this tender allusion to the shears without a smile
of gratitude. She replied: 'I hope my son will return in time to bury his
father, and he will thank you himself, my lady.'
'He has no taste for--a--for anything in the shape of trade, has he, Mrs.
Harrington?'

'I am afraid not, my lady.'
'Any position--a situation--that of a clerk even--would be so much
better for him!'
The widow remained impassive.
'And many young gentlemen I know, who are clerks, and are enabled to
live comfortably, and make a modest appearance in society; and your
son, Mrs. Harrington, he would find it surely an improvement
upon--many would think it a step for him.'
'I am bound to thank you for the interest you take in my son, my lady.'
'Does it not quite suit your views, Mrs. Harrington?' Lady Racial was
surprised at the widow's manner.
'If my son had only to think of himself, my lady.'
'Oh! but of course,'--the lady understood her now--'of course! You
cannot suppose, Mrs. Harrington, but that I should anticipate he would
have you to live with him, and behave to you in every way as a dutiful
son, surely?
'A clerk's income is not very large, my lady.'
'No; but enough, as I have said, and with the management you would
bring, Mrs. Harrington, to produce a modest, respectable maintenance.
My respect for your husband, Mrs. Harrington, makes me anxious to
press my services upon you.' Lady Racial could not avoid feeling hurt
at the widow's want of common gratitude.
'A clerk's income would not be more than L100 a year, my lady.'
'To begin with--no; certainly not more.' The lady was growing brief.
'If my son puts by the half of that yearly, he can hardly support himself
and his mother, my lady.'

'Half of that yearly, Mrs. Harrington?'
'He would have to do so, and be saddled till he dies, my lady.'
'I really cannot see why.'
Lady Racial had a notion of some excessive niggardly thrift in the
widow, which was arousing symptoms of disgust.
Mrs. Harrington quietly said: 'There are his father's debts to pay, my
lady.'
'His father's debts!'
'Under L5000, but above L4000, my lady.'
'Five thousand pounds! Mrs. Harrington!' The lady's delicately gloved
hand gently rose and fell. 'And this poor young man--'she pursued.
'My son will have to pay it, my lady.'
For a moment the lady had not a word to instance. Presently she
remarked: 'But, Mrs. Harrington, he is surely under no legal
obligation?'
'He is only