Imprudent Lady

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It was a joke often repeated in the Mallow household that Prudence had been well-named. “You are a prudent little thing,” her papa would say, when she returned from shopping with a bolt of wool to make herself up a snug shirt for winter. “Oh my dear, we chose aright in naming you Prudence,” her mama would laugh, when she declined going on a picnic only because the sky was heavy with clouds. “And this is my prudent little Prudence,” was Papa’s favourite manner of introducing her to company. With these playful sallies it was well established that Prudence was the wittiest name in the language, and the most appropriate for Miss Mallow.

It was, alas, a virtue not shared by her parents. Papa, with little money and no management, ran his estate into mortgage and Mama, with a lamentable lack of foresight, had failed to produce a male heir to secure what remained upon his demise. It was entailed on a male relative, and the improvident widow found at forty-four that she had an unmarried daughter and herself to maintain on two hundred pounds a year, which was all that remained of her own jointure. It was inevitable that she would dip into her capital if forced to live on such a pittance. Prudence knew it if Mama did not, and when Mr. Elmtree, Mrs. Mallow’s widowed brother, offered them a roof over their heads, they accepted.

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