“By the way, dear, how are you off for money? Would it be a convenience if I lent you some to pay for mourning and the return journey? You came away expecting to be responsible for a few days only, and, as you know, when a man dies it is not possible to touch his money until certain legal formalities have been observed. We should be only too delighted to act as your bankers until matters are settled.”
“Thank you very much, but I think I shall have enough. I drew out what money was in the bank before leaving home, and I would rather not get into debt until I know exactly how I am placed. There may be very little left. Father always spoke as if he were poor.”
“He told you nothing about his affairs, then? You know nothing about them?”
Mrs Nisbet looked at her curiously as she spoke, and Sylvia’s heart gave a throb of fear. She knew something; there was evidently some secret with which she herself was unacquainted, and in her present depressed condition of mind and body it was only natural that she should leap to the conclusion that the news must be bad, and, ostrich-like, tried to hide her head in the sand.
“He told me there had been some changes lately, which I should not understand. His lawyers will write to me some time, I suppose, but I don’t want to think about money yet. I have sufficient for the next few months, for I shall go nowhere, and need no more clothes.”
“Yes, yes, dear! It’s all right. You will get along nicely, I’m sure,” said the other soothingly, and Sylvia felt another thrill of foreboding.
“Get along nicely!” Did that mean that she would have to earn her own living? She dared not inquire further, shrinking from the possibility of another blow, but it was impossible to keep from wondering what she should do if indeed there was no provision for her support.
Pixie’s adventures in search of employment had proved how difficult it was for an inexperienced girl to escape becoming the prey of fraudulent advertisements, and it was humiliating to reflect on her own incapacity. What could she do that a thousand other girls could not accomplish equally well? She could play fairly well, sing fairly well, paint fairly well, trim a hat so that it did not look obviously home-made, make a trifle or creams, though she was densely ignorant about boiling a potato. She possessed, in fact, a smattering of many things, but had not really mastered one which, if needs be, would be a staff through life.
A hundred poor girls find themselves in this position every year, yet their short-sighted sisters continue to fritter away their time, oblivious of the fact that to them also may come the rainy day when they must face the world alone. Learn to do one thing well, compare your productions, whatever they may be, not with those of other amateurs, but with perfected professional specimens, and do not be content until your own reach the same standard. This is a golden rule, which every girl ought to take to heart.
During the ten days which elapsed before Sylvia’s return to London, she was haunted by the fear of monetary troubles which would make her either dependent on her own efforts, or a burden upon her aunt’s narrow income, but neither Mrs Nisbet nor her husband referred again to the subject, and some time must still elapse before she could hear from her father’s lawyer in Colombo.