Her handkerchief went up to her eyes; and Halloran sat back and looked hard at a picture of the first Higginson mill, in oils, that hung over the mantel.
“I suppose we shall have to sell the house,” she went on, rallying. “You will know best about that, John. I am sure you will act for the best, and save what you can for our little girl. You will be good to her—I am sure you will. She has learned to admire you very much. And when we are—when we are no longer—and the house is gone——”
“Nothing of that sort will be necessary,” broke in Halloran, glad to relieve her mind and the gloom at the same time. “The house needn't be sold. I think we shall have the mills running again before so very long.”
He saw, as he spoke, that his words struck a discordant note. She looked at him incredulously.
“It isn't so bad as it sounds————” He meant to make it better, but, failing, stopped.
“Do you mean that we have been given this shock for nothing?” she asked, with returning strength.
The only way out was retreat. He rose, saying, “I hope to have good news for you soon,” and bowed a good-night.
He found Mamie sitting on the stairs in the dark with the shawl across her lap. She got up with a little sob and stood back against the rail for him to pass.
“Cheer up, Miss Higginson,” he said in a low voice, “It isn't a failure at all. We are getting on as well as we could expect.”
She put both hands on the railing to steady herself and looked up at him in amazement.