widow's want of common gratitude.

'A clerk's income would not be more than L100 a year, my lady.'

'To begin with--no; certainly not more.' The lady was growing brief.

'If my son puts by the half of that yearly, he can hardly support himself
and his mother, my lady.'

'Half of that yearly, Mrs. Harrington?'

'He would have to do so, and be saddled till he dies, my lady.'

'I really cannot see why.'

Lady Racial had a notion of some excessive niggardly thrift in the widow,
which was arousing symptoms of disgust.

Mrs. Harrington quietly said: 'There are his father's debts to pay, my
lady.'

'His father's debts!'

'Under L5000, but above L4000, my lady.'

'Five thousand pounds! Mrs. Harrington!' The lady's delicately gloved
hand gently rose and fell. 'And this poor young man--'she pursued.

'My son will have to pay it, my lady.'