“Well then, here it is.” Basil cleared his throat, yet his eyes moistened, and his mouth twitched as he spoke. “Well then, to begin; your friend Carraways is ruined.”
“Ruined!” echoed all.
“That fine old man—that noble gentleman—that capital chap crowned in his cradle the king of good fellows—that man that was as free of the loyalty as the skies are free of rain—well, he’s ruined! A blank—£. s. d. scratched clean out of him—in one word, the vital spark of money has left him, and in the city he’s worse than a dead man.”
“Poor fellow! Poor—dear—fellow!” said Candituft grieved, but very placid.
“It’s quite impossible!” cried Mrs. Jericho; “so sudden! How could it have happened?”
“Easily enough. House gone in India. Nothing safe there. For my part, I hardly believe in India at all. I think India’s a magnificent illusion, like a grand sunset. Somehow or the other every fortune in India has an earthquake wrapt up in it. Any way, Carraways is swallowed;” and Basil bit his lip.
“Well, I am sorry,” said Miss Candituft. “I must say I am very sorry.”
“Very good of you, madam. And of you too, sir;” and Basil looked gloomily in the unconcerned countenance of Candituft. “I’m sure your heart is broken. I can see the pieces in your face.”
“The fact is, dear sir,” said Candituft, and he spoke truly, “I was a little prepared for the intelligence. Still I feel deeply for my friend.”
“And poor Mrs. Carraways! Poor dear soul! What will she do? I feel for her,” said Mrs. Jericho.