“No,” said Fred, biting his lip, and speaking with more difficulty; “but I know it will be of no use to ask him; and unless it were of use, I should not like to mention Mr. Garth’s name in the matter.”
“It has come at an unfortunate time,” said Caleb, in his hesitating way, looking down at the notes and nervously fingering the paper, “Christmas upon us—I’m rather hard up just now. You see, I have to cut out everything like a tailor with short measure. What can we do, Susan? I shall want every farthing we have in the bank. It’s a hundred and ten pounds, the deuce take it!”
“I must give you the ninety-two pounds that I have put by for Alfred’s premium,” said Mrs. Garth, gravely and decisively, though a nice ear might have discerned a slight tremor in some of the words. “And I have no doubt that Mary has twenty pounds saved from her salary by this time. She will advance it.”
Mrs. Garth had not again looked at Fred, and was not in the least calculating what words she should use to cut him the most effectively. Like the eccentric woman she was, she was at present absorbed in considering what was to be done, and did not fancy that the end could be better achieved by bitter remarks or explosions. But she had made Fred feel for the first time something like the tooth of remorse. Curiously enough, his pain in the affair beforehand had consisted almost entirely in the sense that he must seem dishonorable, and sink in the opinion of the Garths: he had not occupied himself with the inconvenience and possible injury that his breach might occasion them, for this exercise of the imagination on other people’s needs is not common with hopeful young gentlemen. Indeed we are most of us brought up in the notion that the highest motive for not doing a wrong is something irrespective of the beings who would suffer the wrong. But at this moment he suddenly saw himself as a pitiful rascal who was robbing two women of their savings.
“I shall certainly pay it all, Mrs. Garth—ultimately,” he stammered out.