"Indeed! I suppose you have come for that packet." Mrs. Lancaster raised herself a little on the pillows. "I suppose, also, you are aware what the packet contains, Doris."
"Yes, mother."
"Is it a gift or a loan to your father?"
"A loan—I hope. Please let me have it—"
"One moment, my dear. Am I right in further supposing that your father intends to pay a particular debt with all this money?"
Doris's head drooped in assent.
"Has it not occurred to you that your father would be treating me very badly if he used all this money for such a purpose?"
"Mother!"
"You fancy I have said something very dreadful, but—listen! Things have gone wrong at Johannesburg. There has been rioting. Mines have been wrecked and ruined. For a long time to come—years, perhaps—your father's income may be next to nothing. What is to become of me? You, of course, have your Mr. Bullard—not so rich as he was; but he is not the sort of man to remain long poor. You had better sit down, Doris. I have kept the newspapers of the last few days from your father."
The girl was clutching the brass rail of the bed. "Do you mean that father is ruined?" she whispered, aghast.