Millbank; $b or, Roger Irving's ward. A novelHolmes, Mary Jane
Philosophy
Millbank; $b or, Roger Irving's ward. A novel
Holmes, Mary Jane
American fiction -- 19th century
As he delivered himself of this speech, Frank stretched himself upon the
grass and gave a lazy puff at his cigar, while his face wore a kind of
martyred look as if the world had dealt very harshly with him. Magdalen
was thoroughly angry, and her eye flashed indignantly, as she turned
towards him. He had been at Millbank nearly four weeks, and showed no
intention of leaving it. “Just sponging his board out of Roger,” Hester
said; and the old lady’s remarks had their effect on Magdalen, who
herself began to wonder if it was Frank’s intention to leave the care of
his support entirely to his uncle. It was her nature to say out what she
thought, and turning to Frank, she said abruptly, “If you are so poor,
why don’t you go to work and do something for yourself? If I were a man,
with as many avenues open to me as there are to men, I would not sit
idly down and bemoan the fate which had given me only six thousand
dollars. I’d make the most of that, and do something for myself. I do
not advise you to go away from Millbank, if there is anything you can do
here; but, honestly, Frank, I think it would look better if you were
trying to help yourself instead of depending upon Mr. Irving, who has
been so kind to you. And what I say to you I mean also for myself. There
is no reason why _I_ should be any longer a dependent here, and as soon
as I can find a situation as teacher or governess I shall accept it, and
you will see I can practise what I preach. I did not mean to wound you,
Frank, but it seems to me that both of us have received enough at Mr.
Irving’s hands, and should now try to help ourselves. You are not angry
with me, I hope?”
She was looking at him with her great bright eyes so kindly and
trustingly that he could not be angry with her, though he winced a
little and wished that she had not been quite so plain and outspoken
with him. It was the first time any one had put it before him in plain
words that he was living on Roger, and it hurt him cruelly that Magdalen
should be the one to rebuke him. Still he would not let her see his
annoyance, and he tried to appear natural as he answered, “I could not
be angry with you, especially when you tell me only the truth. I ought
not to live on Roger, and I don’t mean to, any longer. I’ll go into his
office to-morrow. I heard him say he wanted a clerk to do some of his
writing. I’ll be that clerk, and work like a dog. Will that suit you,
Maggie?”
Ere Magdalen could reply, a footstep was heard, and Roger came round a
bend in the river, fanning himself with his straw hat, and looking very
much heated with his rapid walk.
“I thought I should find you here,” he said. “It’s a splendid place for
a hot day. I wish I’d nothing to do but enjoy this delicious shade as
you two seem to be doing; but I must disturb _you_, Frank. Your mother
has just arrived, and is quite anxious to see you.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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