I was standing behind one of the silk curtains in the drawing-room as I spoke. I was looking down into the street. The room was full of luxury, and the people who passed backwards and forwards in their luxurious carriages in the street below were many of them our friends, and all more or less moved in what was called nice society. I was full of quite unholy pride at that moment, and poverty was extremely distasteful, and to live on a hundred and fifty pounds a year seemed more than impossible. "What is it, West? What are you thinking of?" said mother, in a sad voice. "Oh, too many things to utter," I replied. "We can't live on the sum you mention. Why, a curate's wife could scarcely manage on it." "Don't you think we might just contrive in a very small cottage in the country?" pleaded mother. "I don't want much, just flowers round me and the country air, and your company, darling, and--and--oh, very small rooms would do, and the furniture of this house is ours. We could sell most of it, and send what we liked best down to the cottage." "It can't be done," I answered. "Listen, mother, I have a proposal to make." "What is it, my darling? Don't stand so far away--come and sit near me." I walked gravely across the room, but I did not sit down. I stood before mother with my hands tightly locked together, and my eyes fastened on her dear, lovely, delicate old face. "I am glad that the furniture is ours," I began. "Of course it is." "It is excellent furniture," I continued, looking round and appraising it quickly in my mind's eye: "it shall be part of our capital." "My dear child, our capital? What do you mean?" "We will take a house in Bloomsbury, put the furniture in, and have paying guests." "West, are you mad? Do you remember who I am--Mrs. Wickham, the widow of--or no, I never will allow that word--the wife of your dear, dear, noble father." "Father would approve of this," I answered. "He was a brave man and died fighting, just as I mean to die fighting. You are shocked at the idea to-night, mother, because it is fresh to you, but in a week's time you will grow accustomed to it, you will take an interest in it, you will even like it. I, bury myself in the country and starve!--no, no, no, I could not do it. Mother, darling, I am your slave, your devoted slave, your own most loving girl, but don't, don't ask me to vegetate in the country. It would kill me--it would kill me." I had dropped on my knees now and taken both her hands in mine, and I spoke with great excitement, and even passion. "Don't stir for a moment," said mother; "how like your father you look! Just the same eyes, and that straight sort of forehead, and the same expression round your lips. If your father were alive he would love you for being brave."