have her breakfast at eight like other people? In his house the
breakfast was at eight sharp. Mrs. Fyne's polite stoicism overcame him
at last. He had come down at a very great personal inconvenience, he
assured her with displeasure, but he gave up the early train.

The good Fynes didn't dare to look at each other before this unforeseen
but perfectly authorized guardian, the same thought springing up in their
minds: Poor girl! Poor girl! If the women of the family were like this
too! . . . And of course they would be. Poor girl! But what could they
have done even if they had been prepared to raise objections. The person
in the frock-coat had the father's note; he had shown it to Fyne. Just a
request to take care of the girl--as her nearest relative--without any
explanation or a single allusion to the financial catastrophe, its tone
strangely detached and in its very silence on the point giving occasion
to think that the writer was not uneasy as to the child's future.
Probably it was that very idea which had set the cousin so readily in
motion. Men had come before out of commercial crashes with estates in
the country and a comfortable income, if not for themselves then for
their wives. And if a wife could be made comfortable by a little
dexterous management then why not a daughter? Yes. This possibility
might have been discussed in the person's household and judged worth
acting upon.

The man actually hinted broadly that such was his belief and in face of
Fyne's guarded replies gave him to understand that he was not the dupe of
such reticences. Obviously he looked upon the Fynes as being
disappointed because the girl was taken away from them. They, by a
diplomatic sacrifice in the interests of poor Flora, had asked the man to
dinner. He accepted ungraciously, remarking that he was not used to late
hours. He had generally a bit of supper about half-past eight or nine.