Orde stared at him in blank astonishment.
“Refuse!” he echoed.
“Absolutely.”
“What grounds can they possibly have for that?”
“I can't make out exactly from these advices. It's something about the title.”
“But I thought you went over the title.”
“I did,” stated Taylor emphatically; “and I'll stake my reputation as a lawyer that everything is straight and clear from the Land Office itself. I've wired for an explanation; and we ought surely to know something definite by tomorrow.”
With this uncertainty Orde was forced to be content. For the first time in his business career a real anxiety gnawed at his vitals. He had been in many tight places; but somehow heretofore success or failure had seemed to him about immaterial, like points gained or conceded in the game; a fresh start was always so easy, and what had been already won as yet unreal. Now the game itself was at issue. Property, reputation, and the family's future were at stake. When the three had lived in the tiny house by the church, it had seemed that no adversity could touch them. But now that long use had accustomed them to larger quarters, servants, luxuries, Orde could not conceive the possibility of Carroll's ever returning to that simplest existence. Carroll could have told him otherwise; but of course he did not as yet bring the possibility before her. She had economised closely, these last few years. Orde was proud of her. He was also fiercely resentful that his own foolishness, or untoward circumstances, or a combination of both should jeopardise her future. Therefore he awaited further news with the greatest impatience.
The message came the following day, as Taylor had predicted. Taylor handed it to him without comment.
“Land Office under investigation,” Orde read. “Fraudulent entries suspected. All titles clouded until decision is reached.”