“He did.”
“And the ill news you brought this morning is the result of those inquiries?”
“It is.”
There was a pause, which Tom was the first to break. “I think it only right, Miss Culpepper,” he said, “that you should be made acquainted with the nature of the business which took me to London. You have no brother, and I know that you have had the practical management of many of your father’s affairs for a long time. It is only right that you should know.”
“But I would rather not know, Mr. Bristow, if you think that papa would prefer, in the slightest degree, that I should not be told.”
“I think it highly desirable that you should be told,” said Tom. “No doubt Mr. Culpepper himself will tell you everything before long.”
“I am not so sure on that point,” interrupted Jane. “As regards his pecuniary affairs, I know little or nothing, although I have long had my suspicions that there was something wrong somewhere.”
“In such a matter as this there should be nothing hidden from you—at least not now; and I will take on myself the responsibility of telling you all that I know. Should Mr. Culpepper himself tell you subsequently, there will be no harm done, while you will have had time to think the affair over, and will be better able to advise him as to what ought to be done under the circumstances. Should he not choose to tell you, I still maintain that it will be better, both for himself and for you, that you should rest in ignorance no longer.”
Tom then told her all about his visit to London, its object, and its result.
“Thank heaven that it’s nothing more serious than the loss of a few thousand pounds!” said Jane, with an air of relief, when Tom had done. “Papa will soon get over that, and we shall be as happy again as ever we have been.”