"Well, not exactly. But Mrs. Hearn said she could understand there
had been words between her and the squire. It couldn't be anything
else, you know. Probably it had something to do with that man
Crosbie."
"They'll be very pushed about money," said Mr. Boyce, thrusting his
feet into his slippers.
"That's just what I said to Mrs. Hearn. And those girls have never
been used to anything like real economy. What's to become of them I
don't know;" and Mrs. Boyce, as she expressed her sympathy for her
dear friends, received considerable comfort from the prospect of
their future poverty. It always is so, and Mrs. Boyce was not worse
than her neighbours.
"You'll find they'll make it up before the time comes," said Mr.
Boyce, to whom the excitement of such a change in affairs was almost
too good to be true.
"I am afraid not," said Mrs. Boyce; "I'm afraid not. They are both so
determined. I always thought that riding and giving the girls hats
and habits was injurious. It was treating them as though they were
the squire's daughters, and they were not the squire's daughters."
"It was almost the same thing."
"But now we see the difference," said the judicious Mrs. Boyce. "I
often said that dear Mrs. Dale was wrong, and it turns out that I was
right. It will make no difference to me, as regards calling on them
and that sort of thing."
"Of course it won't."
"Not but what there must be a difference, and a very great difference
too. It will be a terrible come down for poor Lily, with the loss of
her fine husband and all."
After dinner, when Mr. Boyce had again gone forth upon his labours,
the same subject was discussed between Mrs. Boyce and her daughters,
and the mother was very careful to teach her children that Mrs. Dale
would be just as good a person as ever she had been, and quite as
much a lady, even though she should live in a very dingy house at
Guestwick; from which lesson the Boyce girls learned plainly that
Mrs. Dale, with Bell and Lily, were about to have a fall in the
world, and that they were to be treated accordingly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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