Part 57 (1/2)

Poor Dorothy felt dreadfully uncomfortable and crestfallen. She had been alone all day, and it did seem such a little thing to go to the post with Helen Jones, who knew all about her costume, and quite agreed with her that it was a 'horrid shame' for people to be so careless as to have _fires_, when they had the charge of other people's things.

Louisa had scolded her, and been very cross when she came in, but Dorothy really saw no reason why it mattered very much what Miss Addis...o...b.. thought. It wasn't like mother to mind anything like that so much.

d.i.c.k came in about half an hour later. He had been home to dinner, and had gone out again to a cricket match.

”Mother has gone to bed,” said Dorothy rather importantly. ”She doesn't want to be disturbed, and you are not to go to her. She's got a headache, and father isn't coming home.”

[Sidenote: d.i.c.k's Strange Silence]

d.i.c.k looked at her very hard, and without speaking went straight upstairs, listened a little, and opened his mother's door. ”He _is_ a tiresome boy!” thought Dorothy; ”now mother will think I never told him.”

Louisa brought in a poached egg, and some baked apples as he came down again.

”Cook says it's so late, you had better make it your supper, sir,” she said.

”Mother wants a hot-water bottle,” answered d.i.c.k; ”she's as cold as ice.

I think you or cook had better go up and see about her. Perhaps she'd better have a fire.”

”A fire in August! Oh, d.i.c.k, how _ridiculous_!” exclaimed Dorothy.

”All right, sir,” said Louisa, taking the indiarubber bottle he had brought down; ”don't you worry.”

d.i.c.k took a book, and planting his elbows on the table, seemed to be reading; in reality he was blinking his eyelashes very hard, to keep back tears.

Dorothy thought the whole world was going mad. As far as she knew the only trouble in it was her own.

”Aren't you going to take any supper, d.i.c.k?” she said plaintively.

d.i.c.k pushed the egg and apples away, and cutting himself a hunch of bread, went out of the room without speaking.

”Every one is very polite to-night,” thought Dorothy. However, she sat down, ate d.i.c.k's egg and helped herself to apples with plenty of sugar, and felt a little comforted.

At eight o'clock she went up to bed, glad the tiresome, miserable day was at an end. She trod very softly, but her mother heard her and called her in.

Dorothy was glad, for she spoke in her natural voice and not at all as if she were angry.

She was still dressed and lying on the bed, but her hand, which had frightened d.i.c.k by being so cold, was now burning.

”I spoke hastily to you, Dollie,” she said. ”You didn't know how important it was. I am going to tell you now, dear, for it may be a lesson to you.”

Dorothy stood awkwardly by the bed; she didn't like her mother to apologise, and she didn't want the lecture which she imagined was coming.

”Father,” said Mrs. Graham, ”is in a very bad way indeed. I can't explain to you all about it because you would not understand, but a friend he trusted very much has failed him, and another friend has been spreading false rumours about his business. If he doesn't get enough money to pay his creditors by Sat.u.r.day he must go bankrupt. Miss Addis...o...b.. was a friend of his long ago. She has not been kind to him lately, and she has always been rude to me. I didn't tell father because I knew he would not let me, but I wrote and told her just how it was, and asked her to let bygones be bygones. I was hoping so much she would come, and if she came she would have lent him the money. She has so much it would mean nothing to her. Then I was disappointed in London. I thought Mr. Meredith would have been there--he is rich too--and my cousin, but he is not over at all: just his wife and daughter, and they are rus.h.i.+ng through London. They were so busy we had scarcely time to speak. I half wonder they remembered my existence.”

”Oh, mother!” protested Dorothy; and then with great effort: ”You could go over to-morrow to Miss Addis...o...b.., or write, mother; she would understand.”

”No, dear. It is no use thinking of it. To offend her once is to offend her always. Besides, I am tired out, and there are only two more days. I have told you because I didn't want it to all come quite suddenly, and you are so wrapt up in yourself, Dollie, you don't notice the way d.i.c.k does. If you had told me he had _pa.s.sed_, Dorothy, when I came in, I should not have felt quite so bad.”

”But I didn't know, mother,” said Dorothy. ”d.i.c.k didn't tell me. _Has_ he pa.s.sed?”