“An official winding-up,” repeated Maria, her sweet face turned earnestly on her brother’s. “Do you mean bankruptcy?”
“Something of that sort.”
A blank pause. “In bankruptcy, everything is sold, is it not? Would these things have to be sold?”—looking round upon the costly furniture.
“Things generally are sold in such a case,” replied Isaac. “I don’t know how it would be in this.”
Evidently there was not much to be got out of Isaac. He either did not know, or he would not. Sitting a few minutes longer, he departed—afraid, possibly, how far Maria’s questions might extend. Not long had he been gone, when boisterous steps were heard leaping up the stairs, and Reginald Hastings—noisy, impetuous Reginald—came in. He threw his arms round Maria, and kissed her heartily. Maria spoke reproachfully.
“At home since yesterday morning, and not have come to see me before!” she exclaimed.
“They wouldn’t let me come yesterday,” bluntly replied Reginald. “They thought you’d be all down in the mouth with this bother, and would not care to see folks. Another thing, I was in hot water with them.”
A faint smile crossed Maria’s lips. She could not remember the time when Reginald had not come home to plunge into hot water with the ruling powers at the Rectory. “What was the matter?” she asked.
“Well, it was the old grievance about my bringing home no traps. Things do melt on a voyage somehow—and what with one outlet and another for your pay, it’s of no use trying to keep square. I left the ship, too, and came back in another. I say, where’s Meta? Gone out? I should have come here as soon as dinner was over, only Rose kept me. I am going to Grace’s to tea. How is George Godolphin? He is out, too?”
“He is well,” replied Maria, passing over the other question. “What stay shall you make at home, Reginald?”