And George Boult came often, and more often. Hardly a
night that he did not come.
The business, not paying, must be disposed of; there was no absolute cause
for hurry; Mrs. Day could hang on till an advantageous offer was made, Mr.
Boult decided. The house, open to receive him whenever it pleased him to
go, suited him. He liked the long narrow sitting-room above the shop, with
its fireplace at one end, and its three deep-seated windows at the other,
where he could sit now as in his own home, and talk to Bessie wilfully
idle, or Bessie pretending to sew--always Bessie pleasant to look upon,
and oddly stimulating, with her daring treatment of him.
Deleah gone, Franky gone, it was very snug there, especially when the
winter evenings came on, and the poor widow stayed late in her shop while
he and Bessie sat and "chaffed," as he called it, alone.
How she dared! he often asked himself. To think of all the benefits he had
bestowed on the family, and that she dared!
"What would have become of you all if I had not got up that
subscription-list, and started you in business?" he asked her.
"What's going to become of us now that the money is spent, and the
business has failed?" she retorted.
"You leave that to me," he told her, and as good as promised that the
future of the family was safe with him.
Pages:
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313