Celia rose and went to the window, that he might not see her face.
"I am stony-broke," she said. "I haven't a penny; and I'm
friendless--no, not friendless. How can I thank you, Mr. Clendon! The
sight of you--to say nothing of the food--has--has put fresh life into
me. Tell me, what do you think I had better do? I'm not proud--why, I'm
willing to be a domestic servant, to go to one of the factories to fill
match-boxes; but I've no experience. And there are thousands in my
plight, thousands of girls who are worse off--well, no, I suppose they
couldn't be worse off; and yet--I haven't paid this week's rent; and you
know what that means."
"I know," he said, in a low voice.
He was sitting over the fire, looking into the burning coals, with a
curious expression on his pallid, wrinkled face; an expression of
hesitation, doubt, reluctance; for the moment it seemed as if he had
forgotten her, as if he were communing with his own thoughts, working at
a problem.
"I have a little money," he said. "I'll go down and pay the rent."
"No, no!" she protested; but he waved his hand, the thin, shapely hand
of the man of good birth.
"You'll get something presently; it is always when things are at the
worst that they turn. I blame you for not coming to me; it was unkind.
But I understand. You are proud; charity comes hard to people like you
and me----" He checked himself and rose, buttoning his coat as he did so
with the air of a man who has come to a decision. "Yes; I'll pay the
rent, and I'll send them up with some coals. Oh, don't be afraid; you
shall pay me when things come right. Don't you see, my good girl, that I
am glad to be able to help you--that it gratifies my pride? There, sit
down and warm yourself, and try to eat some more food. I wish it were
better worth eating: but we shall see."
He laid his hand on her shoulder as he passed her on his way to the
door, and Celia, blinded by tears, took the hand and carried it to her
lips.
Mr. Clendon went down to his own room, almost as barely furnished as
Celia's had become; and he stood for a moment or two looking round it
with a sigh; then he took up his worn hat and stick, and went out. With
bent head, and eyes fixed on the pavement, he made his way to Grosvenor
Square; and, mounting the steps of one of the largest of the houses,
rang the bell. A dignified hall-porter opened the door leisurely, and
eyed the thin, poorly-clad figure and pallid face with stern disfavour.