"Ho, I didn't suppose you would; it means I lose my hundred thousand, that's all."
"Had you a hundred thousand?" she whispered.
"Very, very nearly, and now I haven't anything,—that is, I didn't make a cent."
She drew a long breath. "Peter, tell me just how we stand."
"Exactly where we did the day a man named Clark came to St. Marys," he said dully, "with not a cent more."
There followed a little silence, and the tears began to roll down her cheeks. He put his arm round her, and perceived, with astonishment, that they were tears of happiness.
"Peter dear," she said very softly, "you don't know how glad I am that it's all over."
"You mean the hundred thousand!" He stared at her blankly.
"Yes, just that. I know you won't understand, but things have never been the same for me since you began to try and make it. You were different—everything was different."
"But if I had made it you would have been glad."