Knowing that Jane
would tell of her misfortunes only when and how she chose, the father
turned away and stood for a minute or two at the window; then he asked
abruptly whether there was not such a thing as a chair in the house. Mrs.
Bowles, who had been on the point of speaking, bade him come to another
room. It was the dining-room, but all the appropriate furniture had
vanished: a couple of bedroom chairs and a deal table served for present
necessities. Here, when they had both sat down, Mrs. Bowles found courage
to break the silence.
'Arthur doesn't know of it. He went away yesterday morning, and the men
came in the afternoon. He had a promise--a distinct promise--that this
shouldn't be done before the end of the month. By then he hoped to have
money.'
'Who's the creditor?' inquired Mr. Lott, with a searching look at her face.
Mrs. Bowles was mute, her eyes cast down.
'Is it Charles Daffy?'
Still his daughter kept silence.
'I thought so,' said the timber-merchant, and clumped on the floor with his
stick. 'You'd better tell me all about it, Jane. I know something already.
Better let us talk it over, my girl, and see what can be done.'
He waited a moment. Then his daughter tried to speak, with difficulty
overcame a sob, and at length began her story.
Pages:
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344