"My dear, you interrupt me. You confuse my ideas. You are too hasty, Pauline, my dear." Pauline had a neat small button of a mouth; the prettiest feature in a face not otherwise good-looking. She pressed her compact lips together, as if to shut in something which might be said. They were looking out upon a deserted parade, with a grey sea beyond. The sky above was grey to match; indeed, the match was so perfect that one would have found it difficult to say where the clouds ended and the water began. The whole made one indefinite grey shield, cutting off the horizon. A thick driving rain had fallen continuously for hours, and as yet showed no sign of abatement. "You were going to say something about 'our position,'" Pauline remarked presently, as no further utterance came from her father. "What was it? Something about 'our position.'" "My dear, you interrupted me, and drove what I had to say out of my head," Mr. Ogilvie murmured plaintively. "It is not a very pleasant position, father,—ours." Mr. Ogilvie cast a longing glance at the parade. "You promised me to settle something, weeks and weeks ago. Nothing is settled yet. And I have waited patiently enough, I am sure—nobody can say I have not. But patience will not keep us going much longer. Patience will not pay our bills." "We have to come to a decision, of course. But matters cannot be settled hastily—in our position." "The most remarkable thing about our position is that we never settle anything." "You do not understand, Pauline,—of course you do not. Women never do. But pray, don't get excited. It makes me quite nervous when you speak in that tone. There is no hurry." "Father, shall I show you a list of the bills that are owing?" "There is no need, I assure you. I am quite content to leave all housekeeping questions in your hands. I have entire trust in your capabilities." Pauline moved impatiently. "My capabilities don't go to the extent of paying bills out of an empty purse!" she said. "My dear, I am aware of that. I do not form unreasonable expectations. It is not needful to speak so loud," said Mr. Ogilvie, with a victimised expression. Pauline dropped her voice several notes. "I have exactly eight shillings in hand." "Not more? But of course you have managed rightly. Money will be coming in soon." "About half enough to meet over-due local bills, not to speak of current expenses to come. It is not my fault," she said, looking him straight in the face. "How can I manage differently, when—" "Well, well; there is no use in talking, Pauline. Manage any way you like, only I really cannot stand this sort of discussion. We must consider what must be done. Of course, it is impossible to go on so. But I cannot decide anything in a hurry. And Nessie will be at home now; we shall not have the pull of Nessie's schooling. That will make a very considerable difference." He would have moved away, but Pauline held him fast, against his will, with her steady gaze.