Where could she turn, where look, for the money that would tide over
her difficulties? In her mental distraction, she laid aside the bills
she was still holding, and aimlessly picked up a half-dozen opened
letters that lay awaiting answers. A couple of invitations to lunch; an
invitation to play bridge; the offer of a box at the opera; Laurence
Asshlin's monthly report from Orristown; Nance's last letter from
America.

With a vague preoccupation she raised the last of these and looked at
it.

How free and unhampered Nance seemed in her inexperience of life! She
looked unseeingly at the closely written lines, her mind in a harassed
way contrasting her own and her sister's fate. Then quite suddenly she
dropped the letter and lifted her head.

A thought had struck her. As a flash of lightning might rend a night
sky, an inspiration had illuminated the darkness of her mind. The
thousand pounds which was to be Nance's property when she came of age,
or upon her engagement, still lay to her own credit--in her own
name--in the bank with which Milbanke had done business.

It is extraordinary how rapidly a thought can mature in a receptive
mind. In one moment, as Clodagh stood beside the bureau, all the
possibilities comprised in that thousand pounds broke upon her
understanding.

How if she withdrew it as a loan? No one--not even Nance herself--need
know; and she could refund it within six months, or within a year--long
before the thought of marriage could enter the child's mind.

Then suddenly she paused in her mental calculations; and a new
expression passed over her face. Was it right, was it honourable, to
make use of this money left in her safe-keeping?

Uneasy and distressed, she turned to the open window, as though a study
of the life beyond her own might help her in her dilemma. The scene she
looked upon was interesting and even beautiful. The grass of the park
still retained something of its first greenness; in the distance the
clustering bower of chestnuts and copper beeches suggested something
far removed from the traffic and toil of the great town; while below
the window, under a canopy of leaves, the morning procession of horses
and carriages passed incessantly to and fro.

What a curious world it was! How conventional and obvious, and yet in
reality how inscrutable! What would it say of her, did it know her true
position? What comfort--what aid--would it offer? Involuntarily, almost
curiously, she laid he