"We're in debt."
Again he put his hand up to his moustache. "Well I'll see to all that, of course," he said gravely. "And when that has been set right you're sure you'll like staying on here?"
She summoned all her courage, and looked at him for an instant straight in the face. "No," she said.
"No?"
"No."
There was another silence. He was standing on the hearthrug, she on the other side of the table; but the room was so small that by putting out his hand he could have touched her. A queer expression was in his eyes as he looked at her, an expression entirely at variance with his calm and good-natured talk, the exceedingly anxious expression of a man who knows his whole happiness is quivering in the balance. She did not see it, for she preferred to look at the table-cloth.
"Dreadful things have happened here," she said in a low voice.
"What sort?"
"Horrid sorts. Appalling sorts."
"Tell me."