At that moment there was a knock at the door, and Prescott entered.
“My dear Frank! My dear Kate”—for Frank and his wife had long since insisted that their friend should so call her—“I am sorry for this. I only heard it this afternoon, for I never look at the money article; so directly I could get away from court, I ran down to see you. This is, indeed, a bad affair.”
“It can’t be helped, Arthur,” Kate said, cheerfully; “it’s no use crying over spilt milk.”
“Is it very bad, Frank?”
“Every penny we have in the world, Prescott. It’s no use mincing matters.”
Prescott sat down in consternation.
“Don’t take it to heart, Arthur,” Kate said; “you see we are very comfortable over it.”
Prescott could not answer for some time. At last he said,—
“At least, Frank has one treasure left him.”
“No nonsense, Arthur, else I shall be angry with you. Now please let us say no more about it till after dinner, and then we will hold a council. We will all go into Frank’s snuggery, and Frank shall smoke his big meerschaum; that always puts him in a good temper if he’s ever so cross.”