Another house just like the first. The bride stepped out of one
palace into another. With their five or six thousand a year, the
young couple could just manage to make both ends meet. The husband
was devoted; the wife had everything that she could wish. Who could
be happier than this pair in a nest so luxurious, their life so
padded, their days so full of sunshine?
It was a year after marriage. The wife, contrary to her usual
custom, was the first at breakfast. A few letters were waiting for
her--chiefly invitations. She opened and read them. Among them lay
one addressed to her husband. Not looking at the address, she opened
and read that as well:
"DEAR REGINALD--I venture to address you as an old friend of your own
and schoolfellow of your mother's. I am a widow with four children.
My husband was the Vicar of your old parish--you remember him and me.
I was left with a little income of about two hundred a year. Twelve
months ago I was persuaded, in order to double my income--a thing
which seemed certain from the prospectus--to invest everything in a
new and rich gold mine. Everything. And the mine has never paid
anything. The Company--it is called the Rynard Gold Reef Company--is
in liquidation because, though there is really the gold there, it
costs too much to get it. I have no relatives anywhere to help me.
Unless I can get assistance my children and I must go at
once--to-morrow--into the workhouse. Yes, we are paupers. I am
ruined by the cruel lies of that prospectus, and the wickedness which
deluded me, and I know not how many others, out of my money.' I have
been foolish, and am punished: but those people, who will punish
them? Help me, if you can, my dear Reginald. Oh! for God's sake,
help my children and me. Help your mother's friend, your own old
friend."
"This," said Rosie, meditatively, "is exactly the kind of thing to
make Reggie uncomfortable. Why, it might make him unhappy all day.
Better burn it." She dropped the letter into the fire. "He's an
impulsive, emotional nature, and he doesn't understand the City. If
people are so foolish. What a lot of fibs the poor old pater does
tell, to be sure. He's a regular novelist--Oh! here you are, you
lazy boy!"
"Kiss me, Rosie." He looked as handsome as Apollo and as cheerful.
"I wish all the world were as happy as you and me. Heigho! Some
poor devils, I'm afraid--"
"Tea or coffee, Reg?"
END OF VOLUME THREE