"Well, it's a bad business, mother. I will go for a walk and think it over. Marion, put on your hat and come out with me."
They had been for their walk—a long one, and he was now expressing the result at which they had arrived.
"One thing is certain—something has got to be done."
"Yes," Mrs. Renshaw replied with a faint smile. "The question is, What is it?"
"Well, mother, it is quite certain that we four cannot live on the interest of a thousand pounds unless we go into a hovel and live on bread and water."
"I quite see that, Wilfrid; but I am sure I do not see how we are to earn money. It is far too late for your father to go back to the bar now, and it might be years before he got a brief. At any rate, we could not afford to live in London till he does so. I have been thinking I might open a little school somewhere."
The boy waved his hand.
"No, mother, you are not going to take us all on to your shoulders. You have got to look after father; that will be a full share of the work, I am sure. Marion and I have been talking it over, and the only possible thing we can see is for us to emigrate."