His face grew darker. “If you wish to ruin us,” he said, “at any rate if you wish to ruin me, you’ll talk like that! As it is, you’ll not lose your money, or only a part of it. The bank can pay everyone, and there’ll be something over. A good deal, I fancy,” putting the best face on it. “You’ll get back the greater part of it.” Then, changing the subject abruptly, “What did Clement Ovington want?”
“I don’t—know,” she sobbed. But already his influence was mastering her; already she was a little comforted. “He asked for you. I didn’t see him—I could not bear it. I suppose he came to—to tell me about the bank.”
“Well,” ungraciously, “he might have spared himself the trouble.” And under his breath he added a curse. “Now let me have some tea, mother. I’m tired—dog tired. I had no sleep last night. And I want to see Pugh before he goes. He must take a note for me—to Garth.”
“I’m afraid the Squire——”
“Oh, hang the Squire! It’s not to him,” impatiently. “It’s to Josina, if you must know.”
She perked up a little at that—she had always some hope of Josina; and the return to everyday life, the clatter of the tray as it was brought in, the act of giving him his tea and seeing that he had what he liked, the mere bustling about him, did more to restore her. The lighted room, the blazing fire, the cheerful board—in face of these things it was hard to believe in ruin, or to fancy that life would not be always as it had been. She began again to have faith in him.
And he, whose natural bent it was to be sanguine, whose spirits had already rebounded from the worst, shared the feeling which he imparted. That she knew the worst was something; that, at any rate, was over, and confidently, he began to build his house again. “You won’t lose,” he said, casting back the locks from his forehead with the gesture peculiar to him. “Or not more than a few hundreds at worst, mother. That will be all right. I’ll see to that. And my uncle—you may leave him to me. He’s been vexed with me before, and I’ve brought him round. Oh, I know him. I’ve no doubt that I can manage him.”
“But Josina?” timidly. “D’you know, she was terribly low, Arthur—about something yesterday. She wouldn’t tell me, but there was something. She didn’t seem to want to talk about you.”
He winced, and for a moment his face fell. But he recovered himself, and, “Oh, I’ll soon put that right,” he answered confidently. “I shall see her in the morning. She’s a good soul, is Josina. I can count on her. Don’t you fret, mother. You’ll see it will all come right—with a little management.”
“Well, I know you’re very clever, Arthur. But Jos——”