"Uncle Arthur knows nothing about things—nothing more than we have told him. Daisy, do be sensible; do be kind; don't rake up worries," whispered Fulvia energetically. "It is of no use—none whatever. Nothing can be altered now by any amount of talk."
"But your money?"
"Hsh—sh!"
"I wish to know what it all means," said Mrs. Browning in her calm voice. "There is no need to whisper. I must, of course, be told everything. Anice and Daisy can leave us for a little while." As the door closed behind them, she continued: "Fulvia knows more than the girls."
"A little more, perhaps. We will talk over everything some day soon—you and I, madre. Only not to-day! It is too soon. Nigel ought not to have all this thrust upon him till he is stronger."
"No?" The word was not acquiescent. In her own fashion Mrs. Browning could be graciously wilful. She moved in front of her son, looking up at him. "Yes—tired, I am afraid—but a few minutes will be enough. I must understand how things really are. It is not possible that any one could seriously accuse my dear husband of—carelessness in—"
"Mr. Carden-Cox always speaks before he thinks."
"Yes, he does that! But what did he mean by saying that all your money had been—stolen? Is it really lost? Has somebody run away?—In a bank or an office?"—with truly feminine vagueness.
"I don't know that anybody has—exactly," faltered Fulvia.
"Then it was not true about your money being—stolen, my dear?"