Hurriedly he endeavored to put things once more upon a paternal footing.
"My fault, my dear Ellen, my fault entirely. Naturally you thought—er—yes, yes, it was quite natural. I—I put it badly. I didn't think what I was saying. The fact is, I've been"—a brilliant inspiration suddenly illumined the chaos of his mind—"I've been so troubled about poor Frank!"
Her expression altogether changed.
"What's the matter?" she exclaimed.
His mind calmed down. Composing his countenance, he shook his head sadly.
"I don't think he'll get over it."
She laid her hand upon his arm with a quick, involuntary gesture.
"But what has happened? Tell me!"
The wisdom of age and the shrewdness of youth twinkled together in Mr. Walkingshaw's eye, but he managed to retain a decorously solemn air.