"But how else will they exist, Frank? Who will keep them? Charley will never be able to do it."
A blank pause. Frank, brought thus practically face to face with the position, was unable to reply.
"I wish to goodness I could keep them!" he exclaimed, at length. "I wish I had a practice and a house over my head! They should all come to it."
"It has surprised me very much indeed, Frank—to leave the other subject for a moment—that you have not sought to establish yourself all this time."
"I was waiting for some money to do it with, Edina. Poor Uncle Francis was constantly expecting those missing funds to turn up. It seems they would have belonged to George Atkinson if they had come to light: but we could not have known that."
"Your uncle Hugh blamed you for it, Frank. 'Better to take a situation as an assistant, than to fritter away his days at Eagles' Nest,' he used often to say."
Frank made no reply. The mention of his uncle Hugh brought vividly to his mind that last ominous letter he had received from him. With his usual incaution, he spoke on the moment's impulse.
"Is Blase Pellet at Trennach still?"
Not quite immediately did Edina answer. Raising his eyes, he met hers fixed on him. And he saw something in their depths that he did not like: an anxious, questioning, half-terrified expression.
"Edina knows about it," thought he. And he turned as cold as the winter frost.