Mr.
Clifford laughed to himself at the idea that she could gain a maintenance by literature, as all the literary people he had ever met or heard of bewailed their poverty.

But there was Madame's little income of two hundred a year: that formed a basis, not altogether an insecure or despicable one.

It would pay more than the rent, with the rates and taxes.
The yearly income from Felicita's marriage settlement, which no representations could persuade her to touch, was to go to the gradual repayment of Roland's debts, the poorest men being paid first, and Mr.
Clifford, who reluctantly consented to the scheme, to receive his the last.

Though Madame had never believed in her son's guilt, her just and simple soul was satisfied and set at rest by this arrangement.

She had not been able to blame him, but it had been a heavy burden to her to think of others suffering loss through him.