She saw herself saddled with her father’s debts.
“I’m afraid so,” said the lawyer.
“And then what?” said Alvina.
“Oh—the creditors will have to be satisfied with a little less than they claim, I suppose. Not a very great deal, you see. I don’t expect they will complain a great deal. In fact, some of them will be less badly off than they feared. No, on that score we need not trouble further. Useless if we do, anyhow. But now, about yourself. Would you like me to try to compound with the creditors, so that you could have some sort of provision? They are mostly people who know you, know your condition: and I might try—”
“Try what?” said Alvina.
“To make some sort of compound. Perhaps you might retain a lease of Miss Pinnegar’s work-rooms. Perhaps even something might be done about the cinematograph. What would you like—?”
Alvina sat still in her chair, looking through the window at the ivy sprays, and the leaf buds on the lilac. She felt she could not, she could not cut off every resource. In her own heart she had confidently expected a few hundred pounds: even a thousand or more. And that would make her something of a catch, to people who had nothing. But now!—nothing!—nothing at the back of her but her hundred pounds. When that was gone—!
In her dilemma she looked at the lawyer.
“You didn’t expect it would be quite so bad?” he said.
“I think I didn’t,” she said.