he anything to worry him, Mr.
Wordley--I mean anything more than usual?"

He did not answer, and she looked at him as if waiting for his reply.

"I was thinking of what you just said: that you were a big girl. So you
are, though you always seem to me like the little child I used to
nurse. But the world rolls on and you have grown into a woman and I
ought to tell you the truth," he said, at last.

"The truth!" she echoed, with a quick glance.

"Yes," he said, nodding gravely. "Does your father ever talk to you of
business, my dear? I know that you manage the house and the farm; ay,
and manage them well, but I don't know whether he ever tells you
anything about the business of the estate. I ask because I am in rather
an awkward position. When your father dismissed his steward I thought
he would consult me on the matters which the steward used to manage;
but he has not done so, and I am really more ignorant about his affairs
than anyone would credit, seeing that I have been the Herons' family
lawyer--I and mine--since, well, say, since the Flood." "No; my father
tells me nothing," said Ida. "Is there anything the matter, is there
anything I should know?"

He looked at her gravely, compassionately.

"My dear, I think there is," he said. "If you had a brother or any
relative near you I would not worry you, would not tell you. But you
have none, you are quite alone, you see."

"Quite alone," she echoed. And then she blushed, as she remembered
Stafford, and that she was no longer alone in the world.

"And so I think you ought to be told that your father's affairs
are--are not as satisfactory as they should be."

"I know that we are very poor," said Ida in a low voice.

"Ah, yes," he said. "And so are a great many of the landed gentry
nowadays; but they still struggle on, and I had hope that by some
stroke of good luck I might have helped your father to struggle on and
perhaps save something, make some provision, for you. But, my dear--See
now! I am going to treat you as if you were indeed a woman; and you
will be brave, I know, for you are a Heron, and a Heron--it sounds like
a paradox!--has never shown the white feather--your father's affairs
have been growing worse lately, I am afraid. You know that the estate
is encumbered, that the entail was cut off so that you might inherit;
but advantage has been taken of the cutting off the entail to raise
fresh loans since the steward was dismissed and I have been ignorant