Yesterday he called here, after he had
seen you in the house where you choose to remain. Our interview was
naturally distressing, and I should be glad to feel sure that you could
spare me a _third_. I need not remind you of the first.
"But I feel bound to own, from what I could learn from him of his
_discussion_ (as I must call it) with you, that I am most uneasy. If I
were to say _unhappy_, tho' it would be less than the truth, you might
accuse me of exaggeration. That I could not bear. Therefore, let 'uneasy'
be the word. Is it possible, I ask myself, that my youngest child--my
latest-born--can find it in her heart to _torture_ the already agonised
heart of her mother? I put the question to you, Sanchia, for I am
incapable myself of finding the answer. I blush to write it--but such is
the terrible fact. I can only beg you to put me out of suspense as gently
as may be. I am growing old. There are limits to what a grey-haired
mother's heart can bear.
"Mr. Ingram's proposals towards a settlement of the untold _ruin_ he has
wrought in a once smiling and contented household were (I must say)
liberal. That they were all that they should be, I must not declare--for
how could that ever be? He put himself, however, and his extremely
handsome fortune unreservedly in my hands and those of your father, who
was not present at our interview.
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