The Carters had now been married
about a year; they lived in Bayswater, and saw much of a certain
world which imitates on a lower plane the amusements and
affectations of society proper. Mr Carter was still secretary to
the hospital where Reardon had once earned his twenty shillings a
week, but by voyaging in the seas of charitable enterprise he had
come upon supplementary sources of income; for instance, he held
the post of secretary to the Barclay Trust, a charity whose
moderate funds were largely devoted to the support of gentlemen
engaged in administering it. This young man, with his air of
pleasing vivacity, had early ingratiated himself with the kind of
people who were likely to be of use to him; he had his reward in
the shape of offices which are only procured through private
influence. His wife was a good-natured, lively, and rather clever
girl; she had a genuine regard for Amy, and much respect for
Reardon. Her ambition was to form a circle of distinctly
intellectual acquaintances, and she was constantly inviting the
Reardons to her house; a real live novelist is not easily drawn
into the world where Mrs Carter had her being, and it annoyed her
that all attempts to secure Amy and her husband for five-o'clock
teas and small parties had of late failed.
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