'Do you think he looks much like a ruined man, Mr. Falkirk?' she said, in one of the pauses of their talk.
A flash of lightning quickness and brightness came to her from Rollo's eyes. Mr. Falkirk lifted his dumbly, not knowing how to take the girl. He had not, so far in the talk, touched the subject of Mrs. Coles' communications, though no doubt they had not been out of his mind for one instant. But somehow, Mr. Falkirk had lacked inclination to call his younger coadjutor to account, and probably was hopeless of effecting any supposable good by so doing. Now he stared wonderingly up at Wych Hazel. She was looking straight at him, awaiting an answer; but fully alive to the situation, and a little bit frightened thereat, and with the fun and the confusion both getting into her face in an irresistible way. Mr. Falkirk's face went down again with a grunt, or a growl; it was rather dubious in intent. Rollo's eyes did not waver from their inquisition of Wych Hazel's face. It was getting to be hot work!—Hazel touched her hand bell, and turned away to give orders, and came back to her business; sending Mr. Falkirk a cup of tea that was simply scalding. Her bravery was done for that time.
'What have you been doing this winter?' Mr. Falkirk finally concluded to ask.
'Investing in new stock,' Rollo answered carelessly.
'Don't pay, does it?'
'I think it will. Money is worth what you can get out of it, you know.'
'Pray, if I may ask, what do you expect to get out of it in this way?'
'Large returns'—said Rollo very calmly.
'I don't see it,' said Mr. Falkirk. 'I hope you do; but I can't.'
'You have not the elements to make a perfect calculation.'