Personally his situation was desperate enough, but he was not inclined to face it.  In a sort of stupor he let the law take its course.  There was nothing left of his fortune, and his creditors were in possession of his house and all it contained.  “Do not try to keep anything back that legally belongs to them,” Edith had written when he informed her of this last humiliation.  Of course decency was observed.  Jack’s and Edith’s wardrobes, and some pieces of ancestral furniture that he pointed out as belonging to his wife, were removed before the auction flag was hung out.  When this was over he still temporized.  Edith’s affectionate entreaties to him to leave the dreadful city and come home were evaded on one plea or another.  He had wild schemes of going off West or South —­of disappearing.  Perhaps he would have luck somewhere.  He couldn’t ask aid or seek occupation of his friends, but some place where he was not known he felt that he might do something to regain his position, get some situation, or make some money—­lots of men had done it in a new country and reinstate himself in Edith’s opinion.

But he did not go, and days and weeks went by in irresolution.  No word came from Carmen, and this humiliated Jack more than anything else—­not the loss of her friendship, but the remembrance that he had ever danced attendance on her and trusted her.  He was getting a good many wholesome lessons in these days.

One afternoon he called upon Miss Tavish.  There was no change in her.  She received him with her usual gay cordiality, and with no affectation.

“I didn’t know what had become of you,” she said.

“I’ve been busy,” he replied, with a faint attempt at a smile.

“Yes, I know.  It’s been an awful time, what with Henderson’s death and everything else.  Almost everybody has been hit.  But,” and she looked at him cheerfully, “they will come up again; up and down; it is always so.  Why, even I got a little twist in that panic.”  The girl was doing what she could in her way to cheer him up.

“I think of going off somewhere to seek my fortune,” said Jack, with a rueful smile.

“Oh, I hope not; your friends wouldn’t like that.  There is no place like New York, I’m sure.”  And there was a real note of friendliness and encouragement in her tone.  “Only,” and she gave him another bright smile, “I think of running away from it myself, for a time.  It’s a secret yet.  Carmen wants me to go abroad with her.”

“I have not seen Mrs. Henderson since her husband’s death.  How is she?”

“Oh, she bears up wonderfully.  But then she has so much to do, poor thing.  And then the letters she gets, the begging letters.  You’ve no idea.  I don’t wonder she wants to go abroad.  Don’t stay away so long again,” she said as Jack rose to go.  “And, oh, can’t you come in to dinner tomorrow night—­just Carmen—­I think I can persuade her—­and nobody else?”

“I’m sorry that I have an engagement,” Jack answered.