Frank did not answer, his face had a look of utter dismay. “Send baby away.” His wife rang the bell, and baby was sent up to the nursery.
“What is it, Frank dear? Something very bad? Tell me, dearest.”
“Katie,” Frank said, “if this is true, and there can be no doubt of it, we are ruined,—ruined, little woman.”
“How, Frank?” his wife asked, unable to realise the misfortune, “how ruined, dear?”
“The great Indian Bank is broken, Katie—a complete smash.”
“But, Frank, that is not altogether ruin; I have heard you say half your money was in the shares of that Bank, and the other half in the Bank of England, so only half is gone.”
“No, Katie; the Bank has failed, the notice says, for an immense amount. Not one-third of the amount of the shares is called in; they will call up the rest now, and every farthing we have in the world will go, Katie. Oh, my poor little wife, my poor little wife!”
“My dearest, I have you left, so I am rich still. Do not give way, Frank, my own boy, you must not do that; we shall do very well somehow. Don’t give way, Frank.”
“My darling, I am only thinking of you. My little tender wife! To think how different your life will be.”
“My dear Frank, I am not a hothouse flower—I am a little wild Irish girl; do you think I can’t rough it as well as you? Why, Frank, I have been wondering lately whether I was always to lead such an idle, useless life as I have lately, with only baby to work for. I am sure I shall be happier, Frank, and you know, dear, I can be useful, and perhaps earn money. I am sure I could give singing lessons.”