"You don't answer," repeated Frank: "what the deuce are you thinking of?"
"I was thinking, my love," replied the lady, subduing her feelings as well as she could, and still clinging to the faint hope that all might not be so bad as she apprehended,—"I was thinking, my love, that your arrangement is not feasible, for this simple reason—that my fortune is so locked up and settled on my children, I can only touch the dividends: and I shall have nothing to receive till July. Moreover, I run very short at my banker's now—indeed, I believe I have overdrawn them—and so, all things considered, it will be impossible, and unnecessary even if possible, to carry your generous proposal into effect."
"I didn't know your money was so locked up!" exclaimed Frank, looking mightily stupid, in spite of his strenuous endeavours to appear perfectly happy and contented. "I thought your fortune was at your own disposal?"
"Certainly—the interest," responded Mrs. Curtis, now finding by her husband's manner that her worst fears were considerably strengthened.
"The devil!" murmured Frank petulantly.
"What did you say, dearest?" asked the lady.
"Oh! nothing, love—only that it doesn't signify at all, so long as we have the interest of the money settled on your children—and that's five thousand a year."
"Which, with your five thousand a year, makes us ten, love," added the lady, eyeing him askance.
"To be sure!" said Frank: and, walking to the window, he hummed a tune to conceal his desperate vexation.