Boardinghouses -- Juvenile fiction; London (England) -- Juvenile fiction; Love stories; Mothers and daughters -- Juvenile fiction
As mother looked at me I think she forgot for the moment the terrible
plunge we were about to make into the work-a-day strata of society,
but the next instant the horrid fact was brought back to her, for
Paul, our pretty little page, brought in a sheaf of letters on a
salver. Of course they were unpaid bills. Mother said sadly--
"Put them with the others, Westenra."
"All these bills must be met," I said stoutly, after Paul had closed
the door behind him. "There will be just enough money for that
purpose, so we need not start handicapped. For my part, I mean to
enjoy our scheme vastly."
"But, my child, you do not realise--you will be stepping down from the
position in which you were born. Our friends will have nothing to do
with us."
"If they wish to give us up because we do something plucky they are
not worthy to be called friends," was my reply. "I don't believe
those friends we wish to keep will desert us, mother. On the
contrary, I am certain they will respect us. What people cannot stand
in these days is genteel poverty--its semi-starvation, its poor mean
little contrivances; but they respect a hand-to-hand fight with
circumstances, and when they see that we are determined to overcome in
the battle, then those who are worth keeping will cling to us and help
us; and if all our friends turn out to be the other sort, mother,
why"--and here I rose and stretched out my arms wide--"let them go,
they are not worth keeping. Those who won't be fond of us in our new
home in Bloomsbury we can do without."
"You are enthusiastic and--and ignorant," said mother.
"I grant that I am enthusiastic," I answered. "It would be a great
pity if I had none of that quality at one and twenty; but as to my
ignorance, well, time will prove. I should like, however, to ask you a
straight question, mother. Would father have sat beside his guns and
done nothing when the fight was going against him? Was that the way he
won his Victoria Cross?"
Mother burst out crying. She never could bear me to allude to that
fatal and yet glorious occasion. She rose now, weak and trembling, and
said that she must defer the discussion of ways and means until the
next day.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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