In spite of her growing dread, Diane brought out the question firmly. Mrs. Eveleth sat one long minute motionless, with hands clasped, with lips parted, and with suspended breath.
"No."
The monosyllable seemed to fill the room. It echoed and re-echoed in Diane's ears like the boom of a cannon. While her outward vision took in such details as the despair in Mrs. Eveleth's face, the folds of crape on her gown, the Watteau picture on the panel of moss-green and gold that formed the background, all the realities of life seemed to be dissolving into chaos, as the glories of the sunset sink into a black and formless mass. When Mrs. Eveleth spoke again, her voice sounded as though it came from far away.
"I want to take all the blame upon myself. If it hadn't been for me, George would never have gone to such extremes."
"Extremes?"
Diane spoke not so much from the desire to speak as from the necessity of forcing her reeling intelligence back to the world of fact.
"I'm afraid there's no other word for it."
"Do you mean that there are debts?"
"A great many debts."
"Can't they be paid?"