The doctor gave an impatient gesture.
"I wish to say nothing in the least impious; but if it is to be in good time the answer must come now; before Cloverlea is sold, and you are homeless."
"Cloverlea--sold?" The notion seemed to startle her. "Who talks of selling Cloverlea?"
"My dear young lady, here's a creditor for over four thousand pounds, who writes to say that if his claim is not settled at once proceedings will immediately be taken against your father's estate----"
"Four thousand pounds! To whom did my father owe four thousand pounds?"
"That's the worst of it; it's a money-lender."
"A money-lender?"
"The fellow holds your father's paper--promissory notes--to the amount of nearly four thousand five hundred pounds, which is now overdue; and he says he has other paper, which will mature shortly, to the extent of another five thousand pounds. And he is not the only one; claims have been raining in from similar gentry. It actually appears that your father owed them at least thirty thousand pounds."
"I don't believe it."
The doctor shrugged his shoulders.