Spragg's
cheque was productive of graver tears, and these were abruptly confirmed
when, coming in one afternoon, he found Undine crying over a letter from
her mother.
Her distress made him fear that Mr. Spragg was ill, and he drew her to
him soothingly; but she broke away with an impatient movement.
"Oh, they're all well enough--but father's lost a lot of money. He's
been speculating, and he can't send us anything for at least three
months."
Ralph murmured reassuringly: "As long as there's no one ill!"--but in
reality he was following her despairing gaze down the long perspective
of their barren quarter.
"Three months! Three months!"
Undine dried her eyes, and sat with set lips and tapping foot while he
read her mother's letter.
"Your poor father! It's a hard knock for him. I'm sorry," he said as he
handed it back.
For a moment she did not seem to hear; then she said between her teeth:
"It's hard for US. I suppose now we'll have to go straight home."
He looked at her with wonder. "If that were all! In any case I should
have to be back in a few weeks."
"But we needn't have left here in August! It's the first place in Europe
that I've liked, and it's just my luck to be dragged away from it!"
"I'm so awfully sorry, dearest. It's my fault for persuading you to
marry a pauper."
"It's father's fault. Why on earth did he go and speculate? There's no
use his saying he's sorry now!" She sat brooding for a moment and then
suddenly took Ralph's hand.
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