So then he made her
lie down on a little couch, while he went through his accounts.
When he had examined all the bills carefully he looked very grave, and
said, "Who would believe this? We began with three thousand pounds. It
was to last us several years--till I got a good practice. Rosa, there is
only fourteen hundred and forty pounds left."
"Oh, impossible!" said Rosa. "Oh, dear! why did I ever enter a
saleroom?"
"No, no, my darling; you were bitten once or twice, but you made some
good bargains too. Remember there was four hundred pounds set apart for
my life policy."
"What a waste of money!"
"Your father did not think so. Then the lease; the premium; repairs of
the drains that would have poisoned my Rosa; turning the coach-house
into a dispensary; painting, papering, and furnishing; china, and linen,
and everything to buy. We must look at this seriously. Only fourteen
hundred and forty pounds left. A slow profession. No friends. I have
quarrelled with Uncle Philip: you with Mrs. Cole; and her husband would
have launched me."
"And it was to please her we settled here. Oh, I could kill her: nasty
cat!"
"Never mind; it is not a case for despondency, but it is for prudence.
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