And here a storm of sobs and tears came on, in the midst of which Matilda's questions could get no attention. Matilda knew her sister, however, and waited.
"O Tilly!—it's so dreadful!"
"What?" said Matilda calmly.
"We haven't got anything to live upon. Anne and Letty have been telling me. We haven't. We are going to be as poor as—as poor as anybody. We have got nothing to buy anything with—nothing at all! Anne says so."
"Did mamma say so?"
"Mother's sick. No, Aunt Candy told the girls. It's true. Somebody or something that had mamma's money—to take care of—has gone off, or been ruined, or something; and we are ruined! There is nothing left at all for us to live upon. And that is what has been troubling mamma all these weeks; and now it is certain, and she knows all about it; and I guess it is that has made her sick. Oh, what shall we do?"
The turn of Matilda's head was inimitable and indescribable. It was not arrogance or affectation; it was perfectly natural to the child; but to a bystander it would have signified that she was aware Maria's views and statements were not to be relied upon and could not be made the basis of either opinion or action. She took off her things, and without another word made her way to the room of her elder sisters. They were both sitting there gloomily.
"How is mamma?"
"I don't know. I haven't seen her since dinner."
It was with a little of the same half-graceful, half-competent gesture of the head that Matilda applied herself to Letitia.