"Nothing of any consequence. A mere trifle," returned Brainard, evasively.
"A mere trifle would not cloud your brow as it was clouded a moment since, George."
"Trifles sometimes affect us, more seriously than graver matters." As Brainard said this, the shadows again deepened on his face.
"If you have any troubles, dear, let me share them, and they will be lighter." Anna spoke with much tenderness.
"I hardly think your sharing my present trouble will lighten it," said Brainard, forcing a smile, "unless, in so doing, you can put some four hundred dollars into my empty pockets."
Anna withdrew a pace from her husband, and looked at him doubtingly.
"Do you speak in earnest?" said she.
"In very truth I do. To-morrow I have four hundred dollars to pay; but where the money is to come from, is more than I can tell."
"How in the world has that happened?" inquired Mrs. Brainard.
Involuntarily the eyes of her husband wandered towards the piano. She saw their direction. Her own eyes fell to the floor, and she stood silent for some moments—silent, but hurriedly thoughtful. Then looking up, she said, in a hesitating voice—