“Yes, dreadful,” he said, gazing in her face.
“Is that all?”
“All? All, my child? What do you mean?”
“Is that the terrible trouble you said that you had to communicate.”
“Yes, my dear child,” he exclaimed; “it is dreadful news.”
“But it is only money matters,” said Hazel innocently; and her face lit up with a pleasant smile. “I thought it was some dreadful trouble—some fresh misfortune.” And as she sat looking him full in the eyes, her quick imagination carried her on to the time when Archibald would ask her to be his wife. His father was rich, and they would have a nice, bright little home somewhere, and mamma and the little girls would live with them. Percy would come home during his holidays, and they would be as happy as the day was long. Certainly, she did shrink a little at the thought of mamma and Archibald; but then she knew he would be as self-denying as herself, and he would do anything for her sake, of course.
She was brought back to the present by her visitor.
“You do not think this so great a trouble, then!” he said.
“Oh, no!” cried Hazel. “It only means going to a humbler house: and of course Percy and I will set to work to make mamma happy and comfortable.”
“Of course,” said the visitor dryly.