"There's something--very wrong."

"What is it? Tell me."

Leaning on the table, with clasped hands uplifted, the loose white lace
sleeves falling away from her slender wrists, she looked at him
pleadingly.

"We've--that is, I've--lost a great deal of money."

"Oh!" The sound was just above her breath. Then, after long silence, she
asked: "Is it much?"

He waited before replying, seeking, for the last 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.