XXVII
Another month had gone, and the end of all things was approaching.
"Jane," said Marsden, "we're beat. We'd better own it. We are beat to the world. It's no good going on."
"What do you mean?"
It was a dull and depressing afternoon—the sky obscured by heavy clouds, a little rain falling at intervals,—so dark in the room behind the glass that Mrs. Marsden was compelled to switch on the electric light above the American desk. She had turned in her chair, and was watching her husband's face intently; and the light from the lamp showed that her own face had become extraordinarily pale.
"It's no good, Jane. You must see it just the same as I do. We're done—and the only thing is to consider how we are to escape a smash."
Then he told her that Bence had offered to buy them out. Bence was ready to swallow them whole. Bence was prepared to give them a fair price for their entire property—long lease of the premises, stock, fittings, assets, the complete bag of tricks. He would take it over as a still going concern, with all its debts and liabilities. If they accepted Bence's offer, they would merely have to put the money in their pockets, and could wash their hands of a bitterly bad job.
"Don't talk so loud. Someone may hear you."
"No," he said, "there's no one outside, except Miss O'Donnell; and you can hear her machine—so she can't be eavesdropping.... I'll give you my reasons for saying it's a fair price."