"I have done all I could," she said. "Lock the door, please, Westenra."
I locked the door.
"Now come and sit here, or stand by the window, or do anything you like; but listen with all your might, keep your attention alert."
"Yes," I said, "yes."
"We are ruined, Westenra," said Jane Mullins, "we are ruined."
"What!" I cried.
Jane said the words almost ponderously, and then she threw her hands to her sides and gazed at me with an expression which I cannot by any possibility describe.
"We are ruined," she repeated, "and it is time you should know it."
"But how?" I asked.
"How?" she cried with passion, "because we have debts which we cannot meet—we have debts, debts, debts on every side; debts as high as the house itself. Because we deceived our landlord, unintentionally it is true, but nevertheless we deceived him, with promises which we cannot fulfil, he can take back the lease of this house if he pleases, and take it back he will, because our paying guests don't pay, because the whole thing from first to last is a miserable failure. There, Westenra, that's about the truth. It was your thought in the first instance, child, and though I don't want to blame you, for you did it with good meaning, and in utter ignorance, yet nevertheless you must take some of the brunt of this terrible time. I cannot bear the whole weight any longer. I have kept it to myself, and it has driven me nearly mad. Yes, we are ruined."