time, some mitigation
of what he had to tell her.

"It's all we have."

"Oh!" It was the same sound as before, just audible--a sound with a
little surprise in it, a hint of something awed, but without dismay.

He forced himself to take a few sips of coffee and crumble a bit of
toast.

"I don't mind, papa. If that's what's troubling you so much, don't let
it any longer. Worse things have happened than that." He gulped down
more coffee, not because he wanted it, but to counteract the rising in
his throat. "Shall we have to lose Tory Hill?" she asked, after another
silence.

He nodded an affirmative, with his head down.

"Then you mean me to understand what you said just now--quite literally.
We've lost all we have."

"When everything is settled," he explained, with an effort, "we shall
have nothing at all. It will be worse than that, since I sha'n't be
able to pay all I owe."

"Yes; that _is_ worse," she assented, quietly.

Another silence was broken by his saying, hoarsely:

"You'll get married--"

"That will have to be reconsidered."

"Do you mean--on your part?"

"I suppose I mean--on everybody's part?"

"Do you think he would want to--you must excuse the crudity of the
question--do you think he would want to back out?"

"I don't know that I could answer that. It isn't quite to the point.
Backing out, as you call it, wouldn't be the process--whatever
happened."

He interrupted her nervously. "If this should fall through, dear, you
must write to your Aunt Vic. You must eat humble pie. You were too
toplofty with her as it was. She'll take you."

"Take me, papa? Why shouldn't I stay with you? I'd much rather."

He tried to explain. It was clearly the moment at which to do it.

"I don't think you understand, dear, how entirely everything has gone to
smash. I shall probably--I may say, certainly--I shall have to--to go--"

"I do understand that. But it often happens--especially in this
country--that things go to smash, and then the people begin again. There
was Lulu Sentner's father. They lost everything they had--and she and
her sisters did dressmaking. But he borrowed money, and started in from
the beginning, and now they're very well off once more. It's the kind
of thing one hears of constantly--in this country."

"You couldn't hear of it in my case, dear, because--well, because I've
done all that. I've begun again, and begun again. I've used up all my
credit--all my chances. The things I coun