“With Johanna’s income and mine it will be a hundred and twenty pounds and some odd shillings a year.”

“You accurate girl!  But even with this it can not be done, unless you were to live in a manner so restricted in the commonest comforts that at your sister’s age she would be sure to suffer.  You must look on the question from all sides, my dear.  You must be just to others as well as to that young man, who seems never to—­ But I will leave him unjudged.”

They were both silent for a minute, and then Miss Balquidder said:  “I feel certain there is but one rational way of accomplishing the thing if you are bent upon doing it, if your own judgment and conscience tell you it ought to be done.  Is it so?”

“Yes,” said Hilary, firmly.

The old Scotswoman took her hand with a warm pressure.  “Very well.  I don’t blame you.  I might have done the same myself.  Now to my plan.  Miss Leaf, have you known me long enough to confer on me the benediction—­one of the few that we rich folk possess ’It is more blessed to give than to receive?’ "

“I don’t quite understand.”

“Then allow me to explain.  I happen to know this creditor of your nephew’s.  He being a tailor and outfitter, we have had dealings together in former times, and I know him to be a hard man, an unprincipled man, such a one as no young woman should have to do with, even in business relations.  To be in his power, as you would be for some years if your scheme of gradual payment were carried out, is the last thing I should desire for you.  Let me suggest another way.  Take me for your creditor instead of him.  Pay him at once, and I will write you a check for the amount.”

The thing was put so delicately, in such an ordinary manner, as if it were a mere business arrangement, that at first Hilary hardly perceived all it implied.  When she did—­when she found that it was in plain terms a gift or loan of eighty pounds offered by a person almost a stranger, she was at first quite bewildered.  Then (ah! let us not blame her if she carried to a morbid excess that noble independence which is the foundation of all true dignity in man or woman) she shrunk back into herself, overcome with annoyance and shame.  At last she forced herself to say, though the words came out rather coldly.

“You are very good, and I am exceedingly obliged to you; but I never borrowed money in my life.  It is quite impossible.”

“Very well; I can understand your feelings.  I beg your pardon,” replied Miss Balquidder, also somewhat coldly.

They sat silent and awkward, and then the elderly lady took out a pencil and began to make calculations in her memorandum book.

“I am reckoning what is the largest sum per month that you could reasonably be expected to spare, and how you may make the most of what remains.  Are you aware that London lodgings are very expensive?  I am thinking that if you were to exchange out of the Kensington shop into another I have at Richmond, I could offer you the first floor above it for much less rent than you pay Mrs. Jones; and you could have your sister living with you.”