"He's gone!" she said.
Mr. Dale, although he seemed but recently roused from sleep, seemed to grasp her meaning in a moment.
"Gone where?"
"He's left this."
She tossed the letter she had been reading so dexterously that it fell just before him on the bed. He caught it up and read.
"What's it mean?" he asked. She seemed to consider for a moment.
"You know as well as I do."
"I suppose I do--when you come to think of it. He's a beauty--a shining star!" He stared at the letter. "What does he mean?"
"At any rate, he means one thing--he's gone." Mr. Dale leaned back, looking at the girl as if he were endeavouring to find something on her face which should give him a hint what to say next. When he spoke again it was slowly, as if he measured his words; yet bitterly, as if behind them was a meaning which scarcely jumped to the eye.
"Look here, Mabel, this isn't going to be an easy thing to do. I'm going to have all my work cut out if it's to be managed. You know what I mean by managed. And, as I'm alive, I don't want to do it for nothing--and I don't mean to."