On the next morning, after breakfast, Mary penned her mother into the little drawing-room and broached the subject. Mrs. Bethel knew that something serious was to follow, and sat on the edge of her chair, looking exactly like a naughty child convicted of a fault. She was wearing a rather faded dress of bright yellow silk and little yellow shoes, which she poked out from under her dress every now and again and regarded with a complacent air. "They are really not so shabby, Mary, my dear--not nearly so shabby as the blue ones, and a good deal more handsome--don't you think so, my dear? But you say you want to talk about something, so I'll be quiet--only if you wouldn't mind being just a little quick because there are, really, so many things to be done this morning, that it puzzles me how----" "Yes, mother, I know. But there is something I want to say. I won't be long, only it's rather important." "Yes, dear--only don't scold. You look as if you were going to scold. I can always tell by that horrid line you have, dear, in your forehead. I know I've done something I oughtn't to, but what it is unless it's those red silks I bought at Dixon's on Friday, and they were so cheap, only----" "No, mother, it's nothing you've done. It's rather what I've done, or all of us. We are all in the same boat. It's my managing, I suppose; anyhow, I've made a mess of it and we're very near the end of the rope. There doesn't seem any outlook anywhere. We're overdrawn at the bank; they won't give us credit in the town, and I don't see where any's to come from." "Oh, it's money! Well, my dear, of course it is provoking--such a horrid thing to have to worry about; but really I'm quite relieved. I thought it was something I'd done. You quite frightened me; and I'm glad you don't mind about the red silks, because it really was tempting with----" "No, dear, that's all right. But this is serious. I've come to the end and I want you to help me. Will you just go through the books with me and see if anything can be done? I'm so tired and worried. I've been going at them so long that I daresay I've muddled it. It mayn't be quite so hopeless as I've made out." "The books! My dear Mary----" Mrs. Bethel looked at her daughter pathetically. "You know that I've no head for figures. Why, when mother died at home--we were in Chertsey then, Frank and Doris and I--and I tried to manage things, you know, it was really too absurd. I used to make the most ridiculous mistakes and Frank said that the village people did just what they liked with me, and I remember old Mrs. Blenkinsop charging me for eggs after the first month at quite an outrageous rate because----"