" She said they must be paid,
and she found it could be done at the cost of giving up spending
August at St. Cradocke's, as well as of breaking into her small
reserve for emergencies.
But she told Allen that she insisted on his making some exertion for
his own maintenance.
"Yes," said Allen in languid assent.
"I know it is harder at your age to find occupation."
"That is not the point. I can easily find something to do. There's
literature. Or I could take up art. And last year there was a
Hungarian Count who would have given anything to get me for a tutor."
"Then why didn't you go?"
"Mother, you ask me why!"
"I know you had not made up your mind to the worst, but it is a pity
you missed the opportunity."
"There will be more," said Allen loftily. "I never meant to be a
burden, but ladies are so impatient, I suppose you do not wish to
turn me out instantly to seek my fortune. No, mother, I do not mean
to blame you. You have been sadly harassed, and no woman can ever
enter into what I have suffered. Put aside those bills. Long before
Christmas, I shall be able to discharge them myself."
So Allen wrote to Bobus's friend at Oxford, but he of course did not
keep a pocketful of Hungarian Counts. He answered one or two
advertisements for a travelling tutor, and had one personal
interview, the result of which was that he could have nothing to do
with such insufferable snobs.
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