And that, of course, Nancy knew no more than her mother.
"Could not we sell something?" she said, looking round their shabby little sitting-room, where all that was worst in the house was gathered together because it was only used by themselves. "Couldn't we sell something?"
"I might sell my cameo brooch," said Mrs. Macdonald, with a huge sigh. "It was the last present your poor father ever gave me."
"And I don't suppose it would fetch anything like nine pounds seventeen and fourpence," said Nancy doubtfully.
"Your father paid a great deal for it," returned Mrs. Macdonald, "but when one has to sell, it's different to buying. One gives one's things away."
As a matter of fact, the late Mr. Macdonald had given fifty shillings for the cameo brooch in question, having bought it in a pawnshop in the Strand; but neither Mrs. Macdonald nor Nancy were aware of that fact.
"Dear Mother," said Nancy, "I would not worry. You have still a fortnight before you need settle it one way or the other. A great many things may turn up in a fortnight."
"Not a ten pound note," said Mrs. Macdonald, with an air of conviction.
"You don't know, Mother. Look how many things have turned up when we least expected them, and money has come that seemed to have dropped from the clouds. At all events, I would not break down over it until the very last day comes; I would not indeed, Mother."
"Ah, perhaps you would not," said the mother, "I should not have done so when I was your age. When you are mine, you will understand me better."