“And so I think you ought to be told that your father’s affairs are—­are not as satisfactory as they should be.”

“I know that we are very poor,” said Ida in a low voice.

“Ah, yes,” he said.  “And so are a great many of the landed gentry nowadays; but they still struggle on, and I had hope that by some stroke of good luck I might have helped your father to struggle on and perhaps save something, make some provision, for you.  But, my dear—­See now!  I am going to treat you as if you were indeed a woman; and you will be brave, I know, for you are a Heron, and a Heron—­it sounds like a paradox!—­has never shown the white feather—­your father’s affairs have been growing worse lately, I am afraid.  You know that the estate is encumbered, that the entail was cut off so that you might inherit; but advantage has been taken of the cutting off the entail to raise fresh loans since the steward was dismissed and I have been ignorant of your father’s business matters.  I came to-day to tell him that the interest of the heaviest mortgage was long overdue, and that the mortgagee, who says that he has applied several times, is threatening foreclosure.  I felt quite sure that I should get the money from your father this morning, but he has put me off and makes some difficulty.  He made a rambling statement, almost incoherent, which I did not understand, though, to be sure, I listened very intently, and from a word or two he incautiously let drop, I am afraid that—­”

He stopped and frowned and puckered his lips as if reluctant to continue.  Ida looked at him steadily with her deep grey eyes.

“Go on.” she said.  “Do not be afraid to tell me the truth.  I can bear it.  I would rather know the worst, know what I have to face.  For some time past I have feared my father was in trouble.  Do you think I am afraid?  Please tell me all.”

“In a word, then, my dear,” said the old lawyer, with a sigh, “I am afraid your father has been speculating, and, like ninety-nine out of a hundred that do so, has been losing.  It is like playing against the bank at Monte Carlo; one man may break it, but the advantage is on the bank’s side, and for the one who wins thousands lose.  Can you tell me if there are any grounds for my apprehension?”

Ida was silent for a moment as she recalled her father’s manner of late, his habit of shutting himself up in the library, of keeping his letters from her, of secreting papers, and, above all, the furtive glances which she had now and again seen him cast at her.

“I am afraid that it is only too true,” she said.  “My poor father!  What is to be done, Mr. Wordley?  Can I do anything?”

The old man shook his head.  He knew too well that once a man has really taken to gambling, whether it be on the Stock Exchange, or at a green table, or on the turf, there is very little hope of saving him.