'I think I ought to tell you of something I did yesterday, Jasper,' Mrs
Milvain began. 'You see, my dear, we have been rather straitened lately,
and my health, you know, grows so uncertain, and, all things considered,
I have been feeling very anxious about the girls. So I wrote to your
uncle William, and told him that I must positively have that money. I
must think of my own children before his.'

The matter referred to was this. The deceased Mr Milvain had a brother
who was a struggling shopkeeper in a Midland town. Some ten years ago,
William Milvain, on the point of bankruptcy, had borrowed a hundred
and seventy pounds from his brother in Wattleborough, and this debt was
still unpaid; for on the death of Jasper's father repayment of the loan
was impossible for William, and since then it had seemed hopeless that
the sum would ever be recovered. The poor shopkeeper had a large family,
and Mrs Milvain, notwithstanding her own position, had never felt able
to press him; her relative, however, often spoke of the business, and
declared his intention of paying whenever he could.

'You can't recover by law now, you know,' said Jasper.

'But we have a right to the money, law or no law. He must pay it.'

'He will simply refuse--and be justified. Poverty doesn't allow of
honourable feeling, any more than of compassion. I'm sorry you wrote
like that. You won't get anything, and you might as well have enjoyed
the reputation of forbearance.'

Mrs Milvain was not able to appreciate this characteristic remark.
Anxiety weighed upon her, and she became irritable.

'I am obliged to say, Jasper, that you seem rather thoughtless. If
it were only myself I would make any sacrifice for you; but you must
remember--'

'Now listen, mother,' he interrupted, laying a hand on her shoulder;
'I have been thinking about all this, and the fact of the matter is,
I shall do my best to ask you for no more money. It may or may not be
practicable, but I'll have a try. So don't worry. If uncle writes that
he can't pay, just explain why you wrote, and keep him gently in mind of
the thing, that's all. One doesn't like to do brutal things if one can
avoid them, you know.'

The young man went to the parlour and listened to Maud's music for
awhile. But restlessness again drove him forth. Towards eleven o'clock
he was again ascending in the direction of John Yule's house. Again
he had no intention of calling, but when he reached the iron gates he
linger