anything has happened," he said, speaking from where he stood in the
middle of the floor, "it's that father wants to dissolve the
partnership."

"I've been looking for that. So has mamma."

"And if they do dissolve the partnership, I'm afraid--I'm afraid
there'll be very little money coming to Mr. Willoughby."

"Whose fault would that be?"

"Frankly, Lois, I don't know. It might be that of my father or of
yours--"

"And I shouldn't think you'd want to find out."

He looked down at her curiously. "Why do you say that? Shouldn't you?"

She seemed to shiver. "Why should I? If the money's gone, it's gone.
Whether my father has squandered it or your father has--" She rose and
crossed the hall to the stairs, where, with a foot on the lowest of the
steps, she leaned on the pilaster of the balustrade. "I don't want to
know," she said, with energy. "If the money's gone, they've shuffled it
away between them; and I don't see that it would help either you or me
to find out who's to blame."

It was a minute at which Thor could easily have brought out the words
which for so many years he had supposed he would one day speak to her.
His pity was such that it would have been a luxury to tell her to throw
all the material part of her care on him. If he could have said that
much without saying more he would have had no hesitation. But there was
still a chance of the miracle happening with regard to Rosie Fay. Love
was love--and sweet. It was first love, and, in its way, it was young
love. It was springtide love. The dew of the morning was on it, and the
freshness of sunrise. It was hard to renounce it, even to go to the aid
of one whose need of him was so desperate that to hide it she turned her
face away. Instead of the words of cheer and rescue that were almost
gushing to his lips, he said, soberly:

"Has your mother any idea of what's going on?"

She began pacing restlessly up and down. "Oh, she's been worried for the
last few weeks. She couldn't help knowing something. Papa's been
dropping so many hints that she's been meaning to see your father."

"I suppose it will be very hard for her."

She paused, confronting him. "It will be at first. But she'll rise to
it. She does that kind of thing. You don't know mother. Very few people
do. She simply adores papa. It's pathetic. All this time that he's been
so--so--she won't recognize it. She won't admit for a second--or let me
admit it--that he's anything but tired or ill. It