His business conducted him to the Mergellina, to the house of Mrs. Gluck, where he inquired for Mrs. Denyer.  He was led upstairs, and into the room where sit Mrs. Denyer and her daughters.  The sight of him caused commotion.  Barbara, Madeline, and Zillah pressed around him, with cries of “Papa!” Their mother rose and looked at him with concern.

When the greetings were over, Mr. Denyer seated himself and wiped his forehead with a silk handkerchief.  He was ominously grave.  His eyes avoided the faces before him, as if in shame.  He looked at his boots, which had just been blacked, but were shabby, and then glanced at the elegant skirts of his wife and daughters; he looked at his shirt-cuffs, which were clean but frayed, and then gathered courage to lift his eyes as far as the dainty hands folded upon laps in show of patience.

“Madeline,” he began, in a voice which was naturally harsh, but could express much tenderness, as now, “what news of Clifford?”

“He’s still here, papa,” was the answer, in a very low voice.

“I am glad of that.  Girls, I’ve got something to tell you.  I wish it was something pleasant.”

His parchment cheek showed a distinct flush.  The attempt to keep his eyes on the girls was a failure; he seemed to be about to confess a crime.

“I’ve brought you bad news, the worst I ever brought you yet.  My dears, I can hold out no longer; I’m at the end of my means.  If I could have kept this from you, Heaven knows I would have done, but it is better to tell you all plainly.”

Mrs. Denyer’s brows were knitted; her lips were compressed in angry obstinacy; she would not look up from the floor.  The girls glanced at her, then at one another.  Barbara tried to put on a sceptical expression, but failed; Madeline was sunk in trouble; Zillah showed signs of tearfulness.

“I can only hope,” Mr. Denyer continued, “that you don’t owe very much here.  I thought, after my last letter”—­he seemed more abashed than ever—­“you might have looked round for something a little—­” He glanced at the ornaments of the room, but at the same time chanced to catch his wife’s eye, and did not finish the sentence.  “But never mind that; time enough now that the necessity has come.  You know me well enough, Barbara, and you Maddy, and you, Zillah, my child, to be sure that I wouldn’t deny you anything it was in my power to give.  But fortune’s gone against me this long time.  I shall have to make a new start, new efforts.  I’m going out to Vera Cruz again.”

He once more wiped his forehead, and took the opportunity to look askance at Mrs. Denyer, dubiously, half reproachfully.

“And what are we to do?” asked his wife, with resentful helplessness.

“I am afraid you must go to England,” Mr. Denyer replied apologetically, turning his look to the girls a gain.  “After settling here, and paying the expenses of the journey, I shall have a little left, very little indeed.  But I’m going to Vera Cruz on a distinct engagement, and I shall soon be able to send you something.  I’m afraid you had better go to Aunt Dora’s again; I’ve heard from her lately, and she has the usual spare rooms.”