"Was he hard and selfish then?"
"I—cannot quite tell, Frank. He did not appear to me to be so."
"Perhaps not. He was young then: and men grow harder as they grow older. But now, Edina, what is to be done? They will have to turn out of this house, and where will they find another?"
The problem seemed a hard one. Edina sat it an attitude almost of despair as she tried to solve it: her hands folded quietly on her black dress; her usually calm, good face perplexed; her steady eyes anxious. The unexpected blow had fallen on her sharply; and in these first moments it was a hard task to battle with it. So far as she or any one else could see, the Raynors would not have a penny to fall back upon: no income of any sort whatever. The major's annuity has died with him.
"They are all so helpless!" she murmured.
"Of course they are," assented Frank. "Not that that makes it any worse or better."
"It makes it all the worse," said Edina. "Were they experienced and capable, they might do something or other to earn a living."
A whole world of surprise shone in Frank Raynor's candid blue eyes. "Earn a living!" he exclaimed. "Who would earn it?"
"All who are old enough," said Edina. "Mrs. Raynor and Alice to begin with."
"Surely you cannot think of such a thing for them, Edina!"