"I see you're not, papa. I saw it last night. I knew something was wrong."
"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.