"Oh yes," Salome said; "I can do their lessons at present."
"That's right. You know your poor father's affairs are in such a fearful mess that it is impossible to tell yet how things stand. The liquidation of the Central Bank will go on for years. A heavy overdraft there is the ugliest part of the matter."
"An overdraft!" poor Salome exclaimed; "I don't understand!"
"No, my dear, you can't understand, I daresay. But, as I told you, your poor mother's income is secure, and on that you must all make up your minds to live till better times. It is just three hundred a year."
Three hundred a year conveyed a very hazy idea to Salome.
"How much had we a year at Maplestone, Uncle Loftus?"
"How much?—my dear, your father was living at the rate of four or five thousand a year!"
"Four thousand!" This at least was a help to a clear understanding. Four thousand did stand out in sharp contrast to three hundred. Salome was speechless.
"Your Aunt Anna will be calling on your mother to-morrow, and she will settle about your coming to see your cousins. You must be about Kate's age—seventeen."
"I am not quite sixteen," Salome said. "Ada is just fifteen, and Raymond seventeen. Reginald is nearly fourteen."