dBooks desire

But, like Mildred, she could not. The
thought of imminent poverty was nagging at them like
toothache. ``There'll be enough for a year or so?''
she said, timidly interrogative.
``I hope so,'' said Frank.
Mildred was eying him fixedly again. Said she:
``Have you found anything at all?''
``He had about eight thousand dollars in bank,''
said Frank. ``But most of it will go for the pressing
debts.''
``But how did HE expect to live?'' urged Mildred.
``Yes, there must have been SOMETHING,'' said her
mother.
``Of course, there's his share of the unsettled and
unfinished business of the firm,'' admitted Frank.
``How much will that be?'' persisted Mildred.
``I can't tell, offhand,'' said Frank, with virtuous
reproach. ``My mind's been on--other things.''
Henry Gower's widow was not without her share of
instinctive shrewdness. Neither had she, unobservant
though she was, been within sight of her son's
character for twenty-eight years without having
unconfessed, unformed misgivings concerning it.


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