“Oh, my gracious me!”
“It has driven me nearly mad,” cried Claire, wringing her hands, “and while I stay here something terrible may have happened. I must go—I must go.”
“No, no; sit still, my dear,” cried Mrs Barclay, drawing her back to her side, and speaking in a quick, businesslike way. “I was quite knocked over by what you said. My poor, dear child! Is there to be no end to your troubles? But there, we mustn’t talk nonsense, but act sensibly. This is like a smash—a sort of bankruptcy, only it’s what Jo-si-ah would call social and not monetary. There, there, it’s a terrible business, but I’m glad you’ve had the courage to tell me. Oh, my dear, I’ve always said to Jo-si-ah that she was a wicked little thing who was getting you into trouble. But let that go. Now, then, what to do first? Your poor father don’t know a word?”
“I have not dared to tell him.”
“No, and you’ve been screening her, and taking care of that little one, and—dear—dear—what a world this is! Tut—tut—tut! I am doing nothing but talk. Now, look here, Claire; the first thing that strikes me is that she must be got away—right away—for the present.”
“Yes, yes; but how?” cried Claire.
“Jo-si-ah shall settle that.”
“Mr Barclay!” cried Claire in terror.
“To be sure, my dear. We want a strong man to act in a case like this. Your sister must be got away somewhere, and you must go with her. You had both better go to-night. No one shall know where you are but Jo-si-ah and me, and you can take care of her until Jo-si-ah has told your father all about it.”
“Yes,” sighed Claire, as her companion’s calm, businesslike manner impressed her.