“Yes; you know, of course, that your brother failed three months ago?”
“What! Edward Crimsworth?”
“Precisely; and his wife went home to her father’s; when affairs went awry, his temper sympathized with them; he used her ill; I told you he would be a tyrant to her some day; as to him—”
“Ay, as to him—what is become of him?”
“Nothing extraordinary—don’t be alarmed; he put himself under the protection of the court, compounded with his creditors—tenpence in the pound; in six weeks set up again, coaxed back his wife, and is flourishing like a green bay-tree.”
“And Crimsworth Hall—was the furniture sold too?”
“Everything—from the grand piano down to the rolling-pin.”
“And the contents of the oak dining-room—were they sold?”
“Of course; why should the sofas and chairs of that room be held more sacred than those of any other?”
“And the pictures?”