“Yes,” wonderingly.
“In fact, he seems to have had nothing left of his private property except this house and grounds, and even upon this there is a mortgage. At some period, though not within recent years, I think, with his usual kind-heartedness, he has put his name to bills for one or two brother officers, and they have not been met, and your father has had to pay. In short, my dear, your father was a noble-hearted man, but he had no business capacities, and what with one thing and another, you and your mother and sister are left very badly off.”
A sudden fear seemed to seize Paddy, and with dread in her eyes, she half whispered:
“Yes, uncle. Go on.”
The doctor cleared his throat and played nervously with his watch-chain.
“There does not seem to be anything except your mother’s pension now, and that is barely enough to support three.”
“And The Ghan House—!”
What was it in Paddy’s voice that made him turn away a moment and apply his handkerchief vigorously to his nose? What was it in the aching pause that opened those eyes, wont to brim over with fun and laughter, wider and wider with dread? But nothing was to be gained by delay, and at last the doctor said slowly:
“You will have to leave The Ghan House.”
Paddy sat as if she had been suddenly turned to stone. On the top of all the rest, this last blow fell like a death-stroke. Her uncle gave her a little time to recover, and then he sat down and, resting his arms upon the table, leaned toward her.