“I believe it is,” replied Fred carelessly; “but that is not what troubles me.”
“No?” exclaimed his friend.
“No,” replied the other. “If the house had not been insured my father has wealth enough in those abominably unpicturesque stores in Tooley Street to rebuild the whole of Beverly Square if it were burnt down. The fire costs me not a thought, although, by the way, it nearly cost me my life, in a vain attempt I made to rescue my poor dear sister Loo—”
“Vain attempt!” exclaimed Barret, with a look of concern.
“Ay, vain, as far as I was concerned; but a noble fireman—a fellow that would make a splendid model for Hercules in the Life Academy—sprang to the rescue after me and saved her. God bless him! Dear Loo has got a severe shake, but the doctors say that we have only to take good care of her, and she will do well. But to return to my woes. Listen, John, and you shall hear.”
Fred Auberly paused, as though meditating how he should commence.
“You know,” said he, “that I am my father’s only son, and Loo his only daughter.”
“Yes.”
“Well, my father has disinherited me and left the whole of his fortune to Loo. As far as dear Loo is concerned I am glad; for myself I am sad, for it is awkward, to say the least of it, to have been brought up with unlimited command of pocket-money, and expectations of considerable wealth, and suddenly to find myself all but penniless, without a profession and without expectations, at the age of twenty-two.”
He paused and looked at his friend, who sat in mute amazement.