‘Mrs. Harrington,’ said Lady Racial, very sweetly swimming to meet her as she entered the room, ’I have intruded upon you, I fear, in venturing to call upon you at such a time?’

The widow bowed to her, and begged her to be seated.

Lady Racial was an exquisitely silken dame, in whose face a winning smile was cut, and she was still sufficiently youthful not to be accused of wearing a flower too artificial.

‘It was so sudden! so sad!’ she continued.  ’We esteemed him so much.  I thought you might be in need of sympathy, and hoped I might—­Dear Mrs. Harrington! can you bear to speak of it?’

‘I can tell you anything you wish to hear, my lady,’ the widow replied.  Lady Racial had expected to meet a woman much more like what she conceived a tradesman’s wife would be:  and the grave reception of her proffer of sympathy slightly confused her.  She said: 

’I should not have come, at least not so early, but Sir Jackson, my husband, thought, and indeed I imagined—­You have a son, Mrs. Harrington?  I think his name is—­’

‘Evan, my lady.’

’Evan.  It was of him we have been speaking.  I imagined that is, we thought, Sir Jackson might—­you will be writing to him, and will let him know we will use our best efforts to assist him in obtaining some position worthy of his—­superior to—­something that will secure him from the harassing embarrassments of an uncongenial employment.’

The widow listened to this tender allusion to the shears without a smile of gratitude.  She replied:  ’I hope my son will return in time to bury his father, and he will thank you himself, my lady.’

’He has no taste for—­a—­for anything in the shape of trade, has he, Mrs. Harrington?’

‘I am afraid not, my lady.’

’Any position—­a situation—­that of a clerk even—­would be so much better for him!’

The widow remained impassive.

’And many young gentlemen I know, who are clerks, and are enabled to live comfortably, and make a modest appearance in society; and your son, Mrs. Harrington, he would find it surely an improvement upon—­many would think it a step for him.’

‘I am bound to thank you for the interest you take in my son, my lady.’

‘Does it not quite suit your views, Mrs. Harrington?’ Lady Racial was surprised at the widow’s manner.

‘If my son had only to think of himself, my lady.’

’Oh! but of course,’—­the lady understood her now—­’of course!  You cannot suppose, Mrs. Harrington, but that I should anticipate he would have you to live with him, and behave to you in every way as a dutiful son, surely?

‘A clerk’s income is not very large, my lady.’

’No; but enough, as I have said, and with the management you would bring, Mrs. Harrington, to produce a modest, respectable maintenance.  My respect for your husband, Mrs. Harrington, makes me anxious to press my services upon you.’  Lady Racial could not avoid feeling hurt at the widow’s want of common gratitude.