"Quite happy, darling, as far as you and the pater are concerned. He
could not have been kinder to us if we had been his very own daughters.
But satisfied? Oh no, mother; never satisfied for a long time back!
How could I be? I don't want to seem ungrateful; but I'm only twenty-
one, and it has been all work and no play, and there are so many, many
things that I want to do, and see, and feel. I've never been to a
proper grown-up dance in my life, for if we have been asked we have not
had decent clothes to go in, and we never invite anyone here, so now
people have given over asking us even to quiet evenings. I hardly ever
speak to a soul outside this house, and I get so tired of it all;--and
only fifteen pounds a year for dress and pocket-money! Remember what
your allowance was when you were a girl, and all the jolly times you
had, and the parties, and the visits, and the trips abroad,--and then
think of our lives. It _is_ dull for us, isn't it, dear?"
Mrs Connor's pale cheeks flushed with a touch of offence. Not having
sufficient insight into girls' natures to understand that there was
nothing either undutiful or unnatural in Ruth's lament, she felt herself
personally injured thereby.
"Mollie is happy--Mollie is content!" she said briefly.
And Ruth assented with a brief "Yes," and said no more.
If the difference between Mollie's nature and her own was not patent to
their own mother, it was useless to enlarge upon it. She waited a
moment or two to regain composure, then continued quietly--
"But that was not exactly the point. I did not mean to speak of my own
troubles. What I feel is that when business is so bad, it is not right
for two grown-up girls to stay at home. You could get on without me,
with a little extra help for sewing, and in time I might earn enough,
not only to keep myself but to help the others. Honestly, now, don't
you think I am right? In my place, would you not feel it your duty to
the pater to be independent, and lighten his responsibility, if even by
a little?"
Mrs Connor sat silent, torn between two thoughts--dread of parting from
Ruth, and a longing to help the overburdened husband, who had come as a
rescuer in her own need. No one but herself guessed how it tore her
heart to present him with fresh bills, or to ask for money for all the
thousand-and-one needs of a growing family. Her very dread and
nervousness made her choose inappropriate moments for her requests, and
Mr Connor's aloofness from the ordinary workaday world made matters
still more difficult. He probably considered fifteen pounds a year a
lordly dress allowance for his two step-daughters; certainly he would
not have noticed if they had worn the same garments every day for years
on end. His own clothes lasted him for an incredible period, and were
always neatly brushed and folded. It did not occur to him that girls
needed more change than himself.
Mrs Connor sat and pondered. It was terrible to think of parting from
Ruth, but the strain of making both ends meet was becoming so acute that
some method of retrenchment must inevitably be found. It is easy for
rich people to cut down expenses--to give up carriage and horses,
dismiss two or three servants, and indulge in fewer pleasures and
excitements; but it is a very different matter when there are no
superfluities with which to part, but only, as it seems, the barest
necessaries of life. Mrs Connor's eyes filled slowly with tears as she
stretched out her hand and laid it over her daughter's. It was the
signal of capitulation, and Ruth recognised it as such, and felt a
sinking of the heart.
"You will let me go, mother?" she asked.