Kate had heard enough of the altercations between her aunt and uncle to be aware that their circumstances were strained, and that Zerah disbelieved in her husband’s business capacities. Pasco had himself admitted to her, on the drive from Brimpts, that he was in difficulties.
Zerah, so far from refraining from her comments before Kate, hailed her entrance as an opportunity for renewing her animadversions on Pasco.
“Look here, Kitty! Here is what we have come to—read that! Your uncle, like a reckless fool, has gone and bought wool when there is no sale for it, and has given a bill for it which has expired. The bank has returned it to Coaker, dishonoured,—dishonoured, do you hear that, Pasco?—and here is Coaker, furious, and demanding immediate payment. On the other side, there is the Teignmouth coal merchant threatening proceedings. What is to be done?”
Kate looked at her uncle.
“Don’t be excited and angry, Zerah,” said he, with the utmost composure. “After rain comes sunshine. It is darkest before dawn. When the tide is at lowest ebb, it is on the turn to the flow.”
“But what is to be done? Dishonoured!” exclaimed Zerah.
“Dishonoured?—fiddlesticks! The bill is returned, that is all. The money will come.”
“Whence. Can you stamp on the ground and make the coin leap up? Can you throw your net into the Teign and gather guineas as you can shrimps?”
“It will come right,” said Pasco. “There is no need for this heat, I tell you. I have seen Farmer Pooke, and he will advance me five hundred pounds.”
“Yes—on the security of this house.”