The Small House at Allington - Anthony Trollope (i want to read a book txt) 📗

a mother’s feelings; and if there was to be anything, I couldn’t spoil it; could I, now?”

“But there isn’t to be anything.”

“So I’ve told her for months past. I’m not going to say anything to blame you; but young men ought to be very particular; indeed they ought.” Johnny did not choose to hint to the disconsolate mother that it also behoved young women to be very particular, but he thought it. “I’ve wished many a time, Mr. Eames, that she had never come here; indeed I have. But what’s a mother to do? I couldn’t put her outside the door.” Then Mrs. Roper raised her apron up to her eyes, and began to sob.

“I’m very sorry if I’ve made any mischief,” said Johnny.

“It hasn’t been your fault,” continued the poor woman, from whom, as her tears became uncontrollable, her true feelings forced themselves and the real outpouring of her feminine nature. “Nor it hasn’t been my fault. But I knew what it would come to when I saw how she was going on; and I told her so. I knew you wouldn’t put up with the likes of her.”

“Indeed, Mrs. Roper, I’ve always had a great regard for her, and for you too.”

“But you weren’t going to marry her. I’ve told her so all along, and I’ve begged her not to do it⁠—almost on my knees I have; but she wouldn’t be said by me. She never would. She’s always been that wilful that I’d sooner have her away from me than with me. Though she’s a good young woman in the house⁠—she is, indeed, Mr. Eames;⁠—and there isn’t a pair of hands in it that works so hard; but it was no use my talking.”

“I don’t think any harm has been done.”

“Yes, there has; great harm. It has made the place not respectable. It’s the Lupexes is the worst. There’s Miss Spruce, who has been with me for nine years⁠—ever since I’ve had the house⁠—she’s been telling me this morning that she means to go into the country. It’s all the same thing. I understand it. I can see it. The house isn’t respectable, as it should be; and your mamma, if she were to know all, would have a right to be angry with me. I did mean to be respectable, Mr. Eames; I did indeed.”

“Miss Spruce will think better of it.”

“You don’t know what I’ve had to go through. There’s none of them pays, not regular⁠—only she and you. She’s been like the Bank of England, has Miss Spruce.”

“I’m afraid I’ve not been very regular, Mrs. Roper.”

“Oh, yes, you have. I don’t think of a pound or two more or less at the end of a quarter, if I’m sure to have it some day. The butcher⁠—he understands one’s lodgers just as well as I do⁠—if the money’s really coming, he’ll wait; but he won’t wait for such as them Lupexes, whose money’s nowhere. And there’s Cradell; would you believe it, that fellow owes me eight and twenty pounds!”

“Eight and twenty pounds!”

“Yes, Mr. Eames, eight and twenty pounds! He’s a fool. It’s them Lupexes as have had his money. I know it. He don’t talk of paying, and going away. I shall be just left with him and the Lupexes on my hands; and then the bailiffs may come and sell every stick about the place. I won’t say nay to them.” Then she threw herself into the old horsehair armchair, and gave way to her womanly sorrow.

“I think I’ll go upstairs, and get ready for dinner,” said Eames.

“And you must go away when you come back?” said Mrs. Roper.

“Well, yes, I’m afraid I must. I meant you to have a month’s warning from today. Of course I shall pay for the month.”

“I don’t want to take any advantage; indeed, I don’t. But I do hope you’ll leave your things. You can have them whenever you like. If Chumpend knows that you and Miss Spruce are both going, of course he’ll be down upon me for his money.” Chumpend was the butcher. But Eames made no answer to this piteous plea. Whether or no he could allow his old boots to remain in Burton Crescent for the next week or two, must depend on the manner in which he might be received by Amelia Roper this evening.

When he came down to the drawing-room, there was no one there but Miss Spruce. “A fine day, Miss Spruce,” said he.

“Yes, Mr. Eames, it is a fine day for London; but don’t you think the country air is very nice?”

“Give me the town,” said Johnny, wishing to say a good word for poor Mrs. Roper, if it were possible.

“You’re a young man, Mr. Eames; but I’m only an old woman. That makes a difference,” said Miss Spruce.

“Not much,” said Johnny, meaning to be civil. “You don’t like to be dull any more than I do.”

“I like to be respectable, Mr. Eames. I always have been respectable, Mr. Eames.” This the old woman said almost in a whisper, looking anxiously to see that the door had not been opened to other listening ears.

“I’m sure Mrs. Roper is very respectable.”

“Yes; Mrs. Roper is respectable, Mr. Eames; but there are some here that⁠—Hush-sh-sh!” And the old lady put her finger up to her lips. The door opened and Mrs. Lupex swam into the room.

“How d’ye do, Miss Spruce? I declare you’re always first. It’s to get a chance of having one of the young gentlemen to yourself, I believe. What’s the news in the city today, Mr. Eames? In your position now of course you hear all the news.”

“Sir Raffle Buffle has got a new pair of shoes. I don’t know that for certain, but I guess it from the time it took him to put them on.”

“Ah! now you’re quizzing. That’s always the way with you gentlemen when you get a little up in the world. You don’t think women are worth talking to then, unless just for a joke or so.”

“I’d a great deal sooner talk to you, Mrs. Lupex, than I would to Sir Raffle Buffle.”

“It’s all very