"What a colour you have, Nellie!" he said. "I don't think there's much amiss with you now!"
"Oh, no," she agreed, "I'm quite well, but I wish I was not so tired— I'm always tired! Oh, Tom, how I wish we could have gone away to the sea, don't you?"
"Yes, but I didn't know you felt like that! I thought you didn't mind our having to stay at home."
"I do really, but I don't want Mother and Father to know it. I—I suppose it's my fault we're not going. Oh, you know what I mean! I heard Mother and Father talking, and Father said my illness had cost nearly fifty pounds; he said it wouldn't have mattered if he'd had a rise at the bank, but he hasn't, you know."
"Yes, I know. It's a great shame. He expected to be made cashier, but another man, whose father has shares in the bank, has been given the post."
"Oh, how very unfair! Did Father tell you?"
"No. He told Dr. Brewer. I don't think they thought I was listening. Dr. Brewer thought it very unfair, too. He said: 'Never mind, old man, your turn will come.' But Father said he was afraid it would be a good while coming, because he had no friends at court."
"No friends at court?" echoed Nellie wonderingly. "What did he mean by that?"
"I couldn't think; so I asked Mother. She said he meant he wasn't well known by the heads of the bank: directors, I think she called them. If Father knew a director, he might get a better post. See?"
Nellie nodded, looking very thoughtful. "I suppose there's no way of our getting to know a director?" she asked, an eager light in her blue eyes.