That was a dreadful day, bringing in its course fresh disclosures of dishonesty on the part of both father and son of the Spenceleys, fresh shame and humiliation to the sorely proved Helena; fresh bursts of wild, hopeless weeping and meaningless questions from her poor mother. Mrs. Spenceley was, of course, perfectly bewildered by everything, and could only reiterate that she had told Spenceley, over and over again, that if business was so precarious, they had no right to be giving balls; and she knew it would turn out badly, she had said so all along. Then a fresh burst of weeping, and the inquiries: ‘Helena, my dear, I s’pose we shall have to leave here. What do you think we shall be allowed to keep? Will everything have to be sold?’ To all of which Helena, pale, composed, and gentle, made answers as soothing as she could. It was upon her head that the cruellest shame and humiliation naturally fell. Sebastian asked her, almost as soon as he met her in the morning, what friends or relations there were with whom he could communicate on the subject of her father’s death, and to whom he could resign his present authority. ‘But there is Fred,’ said poor, unconscious Helena. ‘He is sure to be back soon. He will come by one of the early trains from Manchester, I am sure.’ ‘I doubt it,’ said Sebastian, feeling his task a hard one. ‘And even if he did, it is not right that your friends and relations should not be summoned. Don’t think I wish to withdraw the little assistance I can offer you, but I have no right to the position. It is absolutely necessary that I give the responsibility into some proper hands.’ ‘I don’t know of any one except Uncle Robert, and papa and he were not good friends. He is mamma’s brother. I think he would come if we sent for him.’ ‘Where does he live?’ ‘In Manchester; I will give you his address,’ said Helena. When she had done so, Sebastian telegraphed to Mr. Robert Bamford, requesting him to come over as soon as possible on urgent business. An answer came to the effect that Mr. Bamford would arrive some time in the afternoon. It was for his appearance that Sebastian waited. He and Helena were in the library. He was trying to explain to her the circumstances which had made it possible for her father to fail, and Helena was giving her best attention, but, with all the goodwill in the world, utterly helpless before the technical business terms and details. Her sad face with its serious, puzzled look, was in sharp contrast with that of the Helena Spenceley whom Sebastian had always hitherto known. ‘You see,’ said she, suddenly looking up at him with a wan attempt at a smile, ‘you had every right to laugh at me when I boasted my business capacities. No one could be more ignorant. I see it now.’