Austin began to whistle a popular _cafe-chantant_
air, as he bent over his palette, squeezing little dabs of Naples yellow
out of a leaden tube. Some hundreds!--that was a vague phrase, which might
mean a great deal of money; it was a phrase which alarmed Clarissa; but she
was much more alarmed by the recklessness of her brother's tone.
"But if you owe money, you must pay it, Austin," she said; "you can't leave
a place owing money."
The painter shrugged his shoulders.
"It's not an agreeable thing to do," he said, "but it has been done. Of the
two, it's pleasanter than staying in a place where you owe money."
"Of course I shall do all I can to help you, dear," said his sister. "There
will be a hundred and twenty-five pounds due to me at Christmas, and I'll
give you the hundred."
"You're a first-rate girl, Clary, but I think that fellow Granger might
give you more pin-money. Five hundred a year is a beggarly pittance for a
man of his means."
"It is more than I fancied I could ever want; and Daniel allows papa five
hundred a year, you know Austin."
"Humph! that makes a thousand--no great things for a millionaire. A pretty
girl, married to a man of that stamp, ought to have unlimited command of
money," replied her brother. "It's the only compensation," he said to
himself afterwards.
"I don't like to hear you say these things, Austin. My husband is very kind
to me.
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