"Dick, please—please don't go on."
Suddenly he stopped walking about, leaned his hands on the table, and stared across at her.
"Suppose the entire business goes to pot. What then?"
"The business will recover, and continue—if it isn't drained to death."
"Yes, but it's all mighty fine for you. You can afford to take a lofty tone. Fat years are followed by lean years—We must wait for the fat years again. I know all that cut and dried cackle—it's the way people of property always talk. I came in with nothing—please to remember that. I'm absolutely dependent on the business—if the profits go down to nothing, am I to starve?"
"You shan't starve;" and she looked round the comfortable, well-furnished room.
"You had your private fortune—all that you'd put by,—and I suppose you have got all of it still."
"How can I have it all—when you know what I gave to Enid?"
"You gave Enid a dashed sight too much—but you had plenty left, in spite of that."
"Dick, on my honour, I hadn't a large amount left. I used to count myself a rich woman, but I was only relying on the business. What I took out one year I put back into it another year. I was always trying to improve it."