"My son Alfred," continued Mrs. Dinks, "has an allowance of six hundred
dollars a year, no profession, and expectations from his grand-uncle.
These are his resources. If his father chooses, he can cut off his
allowance. Perhaps he will. You can mention these facts to Mr. Newt."
"Oh! mercy! mercy!" exclaimed Mrs. Newt. "What shall we do? What will
people say?"
"Good-morning, ladies!" said Mrs. Dinks, with a comprehensive bow. She
was troubled, but not overwhelmed; for she believed that the rich Mr.
Newt would not, of course, allow his daughter to suffer. Mrs. Dagon was
more profoundly persuaded than ever that Mrs. Dinks had managed the whole
matter.
"Nancy," said she, as the door closed upon Mrs. Dinks, "it is a scheming,
artful woman. Her son has no money, and I doubt if he ever will have any.
Boniface will be implacable. I know him. He is capable of seeing his
daughter suffer. Fanny has made a frightful mistake. Poor Fanny! she was
not so clever as she thought herself. There is only one hope--that is in
old Burt. I think we had better present that view chiefly to Boniface. We
must concede the poverty, but insist and enlarge upon the prospect. No
Newt ought to be allowed to suffer if we can help it. Poor Fanny! She was
always pert, but not quite so smart as she thought herself!"
Mrs. Dagon indulged in a low chuckle of triumph, while Mrs. Newt was
overwhelmed with a vague apprehension that all her husband's wrath at
his daughter's marriage would be visited upon her.
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