"The Carys are ruined too?" she asked.
"Oh, I don't know—they have lost a bit, I suppose." His voice sounded unpleasant. "At any rate, I'll say that for them—they behaved as people of their extraction would behave. First the mother poured out a torrent of abuse over the poor Rajah which would have been the envy of a fish-wife, and then the daughter turned on me." He laughed. "It was a most powerful scene of feminine hysterics. I was glad that you were not there."
Lois sat silent, her head resting on her hand, her eyes fixed thoughtfully on the table.
"And what are we going to do?" she asked at last. "You take the matter so easily, but if we are really ruined—"
He laid his hand affectionately on her shoulder.
"I am ruined, Lois. I did not say that you were. Even with your rather low opinion of me, you could hardly have supposed that I would touch your money. You are well enough off to do what you like. As for me—" he squared his shoulders—"I feel quite capable of starting things all over again."
His tone touched her. She looked up, and her face softened. There was nothing that could have made her happier than to have discovered in her husband some elements of courage and sincerity.
"Of course, Archibald, whatever is mine is yours," she said. "You must have known that."
"My dear generous little woman!" He bent over her and kissed her, apparently unconscious that she instinctively drew back from his caress. "If you really will help me, no doubt I shall build things up again in no time, and this one blunder won't count for much. You are a worthy comrade for a man."
Perhaps he had accepted her offer too quickly, perhaps his tone jarred on her as too elated, too satisfied. She got up, pushing her letters quickly to one side.