“But if Nora knows that I’ve been telling you”—cried Alice—“she’ll never forgive me. She made me promise I wouldn’t tell you. But how can you help knowing? If father’s made a bankrupt, it wouldn’t be very nice for you! How could you go on living with us? Nora thinks she’s going to earn money—that father can sell two wretched little books—and we can go and live in a tiny house on the Cowley Road—and—and—all sorts of absurd things!”
“But Why is it Nora that has to settle all these things?” asked Connie in bewilderment. “Why doesn’t your mother—”
“Oh, because mother doesn’t know anything about the bills,” interrupted Alice. “She never can do a sum—or add up anything—and I’m no use at it either. Nora took it all over last year, and she won’t let even me help her. She makes out the most wonderful statements—she made out a fresh one to-day—that’s why she had a headache when she came to meet you. But what’s the good of statements? They won’t pay the bank.”
“But why—why—” repeated Connie, and then stopped, lest she should hurt Alice’s feelings.
“Why did we get into debt? I’m sure I don’t know!” Alice shook her head helplessly. “We never seemed to have anything extravagant.”
These things were beyond Connie’s understanding. She gave it up. But her mind impetuously ran forward.
“How much is wanted altogether?”
Alice, reluctantly, named a sum not much short of a thousand pounds.
“Isn’t it awful?”
She sighed deeply. Yet already she seemed to be talking of other people’s affairs!