"How dreadful of you to think I came for that! But I am in an awful fix, Guardy."
"Just let me tell you, dear; it'll be some relief. I'm having the most terrible time."
She sank into a low chair, disengaging an overpowering scent of violets, while melancholy struggled to subdue her face and body.
"The most awful fix. I expect to be sold up any moment. We may be on the streets to-morrow. I daren't tell the children; they're so happy, poor darlings. I shall be obliged to take Jock away from school. And Phyllis will have to stop her piano and dancing; it's an absolute crisis. And all due to those Midland Syndicate people. I've been counting on at least two hundred for my new story, and the wretches have refused it."
With a tiny handkerchief she removed one tear from the corner of one eye. "It is hard, Guardy; I worked my brain silly over that story."
>From old Heythorp came a mutter which sounded suspiciously like:
Heaving a sigh, which conveyed nothing but the generosity of her breathing apparatus, Mrs. Larne went on:
"You couldn't, I suppose, let me have just one hundred?"