For months and months she had been reconciling herself to the inevitable--schooling herself to forget the past and look forward to a future when Archie would take an interest in the modest little factory she and Lang were to prepare, and learn to find happiness in the tiny home she had tried so hard to beautify--but it came upon him suddenly. He had not realised the full change in his circumstances when he left Homewood, or when he struggled back to consciousness from long illness at Upper Clapton; not when he had to attend at Mr. Swanland's offices; not when the Thames Street warehouse was closed, and one of his own clerks started a feeble business there on the strength of his late employer's name and connection; not when the last sale took place at Homewood--no, not once till on the morning after his arrival at Wood Cottage, (so Dolly christened the new home), he rose early, and walking round the house and surveying his small territory, comprehended vaguely there was something still for him to know; that Dolly was keeping some terrible secret. "He knows all about it as well as you, you may depend," Rupert said in reply to Dolly's last sentence; "nothing you can tell him now will be news to him." But Dolly shook her head. Her instinct was clearer than Rupert's reason, and she felt certain if her husband only knew the worst, he would nerve himself to face it more bravely than he could this vague intangible trouble. "I will tell him," she declared to Rupert, and then like a coward put off doing so till Mortomley himself broke the ice by asking, "Dolly, how long do you propose remaining in this charming locality?" "Do you not think it charming?" she inquired. "I think the walks about are lovely, and the air so pure, and the scenery so calm and peaceful--" "Granted, my love; but it is a place one would soon grow very tired of. I must honestly confess I find time hang very heavily on my hands already." "Don't say that, don't," she entreated. "But, Dolly, if it be true why should I not say it?" he inquired. "Because, my poor dear," and Dolly laid a trembling hand on his shoulder, "I am afraid you will have to stay here and learn to like and find your interests in it." He took her hand in his, and turned so that he could see her face. "What is it, dear, you are keeping from me? Is there any difficulty about getting the interest of your money. Mr. Daniells is in London I know, and the matter now ought to be put right. Tell me all about it, dear--why are we in this place, and why do you say we must remain here?" "Because," Dolly began, and then stopped, hesitating how to frame her sentence. "Because what?" he asked a little impatiently. "Come, dear, out with it; the trouble will not seem half so great or insurmountable when you share it with me. Because--" "Because I have no money, Archie, now, except just a very, very little; because that has gone like everything else." "Do you mean your fortune?" he asked.