There had been no rejoicing
when he had attained his majority; it passed over unnoticed and
unmarked. News came to them from England, letters from the
little farm in Kent, telling of simple home intelligence, and
letters from Lady Earle, always sad and stained with tears. She
had no good news to tell them. Lord Earle was well, but he would
never allow his son's name to be mentioned before him, and she
longed to see her son. In all her letters Lady Earle said: "Give
my love to Dora."
In this, the third year of his married life, Ronald began to feel
the pressure of poverty. His income was not more than three
hundred a year. To Dora this seemed boundless riches; but the
heir of Earlescourt had spent more in dress and cigars. Now
debts began to press upon him, writing home he knew was useless.
He would not ask Lady Earle, although he knew that she would have
parted with the last jewel in her case for him.
Ronald gave himself up to the study of painting. A pretty little
studio was built, and Dora spent long hours in admiring both her
husband and his work. He gave promise of being some day a good
artist--not a genius.
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