"You've all got to buckle to now, and get things arranged for your poor mother, eh, girls? Must think of her comfort. Nigel will be going to college by-and-by, so you'll have to be her dependence. What of your poor father's affairs, Nigel? Looked into things yet? Some little embarrassments, I suppose. Nothing serious, or we should have heard; everybody would have heard." "Nobody has heard anything yet." Mr. Carden-Cox peered at him inquisitively. "Then there is something, hey?" "We must give up the Grange." Daisy burst into a round-mouthed "Oh!" Anice uttered a little shriek. "Give up—the Grange!" "Let or sell, whichever we can. There will not be enough money to keep the place going. We must find a small low-rented house somewhere, and do our best to live economically." Mr. Carden-Cox screwed up his lips, emitting a tiny whistle. "And—college—" "Is out of the question. I shall be at the Bank." "In what capacity?" "Clerk." "You—a clerk!" "On £200 a year. But for friendship and kindness I should have had to begin with less than half as much." There was no falter in Nigel's voice thus far. "But, I say!" broke in Mr. Carden-Cox. "I say! What about Fulvia?" "If I don't go out as governess, I shall be useful at home," said Fulvia. A touch of hardness was visible in her manner. "You—go—out—as—governess!" Mr. Carden-Cox could hardly give utterance to the words. "Fulvia is talking nonsense. That will not be." Nigel spoke resolutely, but Fulvia could see what the interview was to him. "I don't know who is to prevent, if I choose." "I do. It will not be permitted." "Permitted! I should just—think—not!" gasped Mr. Carden-Cox. "Fulvia Rolfe to go—out—as—governess! And pray, what of Fulvia Rolfe's fifty thousand pounds? Eh? What of my niece's fifty thousand pounds? I am her uncle, remember! Her only near relative, remember! I have a right to know, to demand! What of Fulvia's money, entrusted to—to—to—your father?" Mr. Carden-Cox was in a towering passion, too much of a passion for lucid speech. He already saw what he had to expect, and he nearly foamed at the mouth. "Fulvia's money!" he reiterated. "Fulvia's fifty—thousand—pounds! Eh? Eh? Eh? What of that, eh? Where is it?" One word would have been sufficient answer, just the little word "Gone!" Nigel could not say it. His self-command was not equal to the strain. To have to confess this of his dead father before Mr. Carden-Cox, before the wronged Fulvia, before Albert Browning's own daughters, was too much. There was a parting of the lips, and an effort to speak, but no sound came, and the lips closed again with rigid pressure, as if he were hardly able to endure himself. Fulvia had meant to remain in the background, but the sight of Nigel's distress overpowered her, and she started forward impulsively.