Henceforward Georgie wore a look of satisfied importance, as of one who has been momentously confided in. But it was some days before Joanna could get her to share the secret.

“You must promise faithfully not to tell Mabel,” Georgie stipulated, giving way at last.

Joanna promised faithfully.

“Well then,” said Georgie, lowering her voice to a searching whisper, “we were going to have had a baby; but now it’s not coming, because of Father. And that’s why Mother is ill in bed and seeing the doctor. She only said it was a Disappointment. It was Aunt Georgina told me the rest. She said at fifteen I was old enough to know. All the same, remember you have promised not to tell Mabel.”

Joanna, gratifyingly awestruck, gazed at her sister. The collective “we” in Georgie’s mouth impressed her strongly. Had she sought in her mind there were a thousand questions to be asked. But at twelve one is still used to accepting mysteries without challenge.

And so this strange new loss which was in some indiscoverable way connected with her father’s death in America, was stored in the dark lumber-room of the child’s mind.

CHAPTER TWO

I

As soon as Juley was well enough she returned home with the children to Glasgow. And there, when they were got past the first excitement of condolences, it looked as if things would continue much as they had been in Sholto’s life-time. Every one said that the widow bore up wonderfully, that she was an example of Christian fortitude.

Sholto’s affairs were in good order though people were surprised at the smallness of his estate, and business acquaintances shook their heads a little, murmuring the word “speculations.” But Juley herself made no complaint. She was indeed relieved at having to give up her husband’s cherished project of moving to a grander house in a more fashionable neighbourhood.

Collessie Street, at the top of its precipitous, roughly cobbled hill, had at one time been a residential quarter of distinction. But in 1896, the roomy, solid, black houses – deep-bitten by the carbonic deposits of half a century – with their square-pillared porticoes, and their stone areas guarded by rusty spear-head railings, had a forsaken look. Their domestic curtains were more and more giving place to the ground-glass and perforated metal screens of institutions; and where once a famous surgeon had brought up his family, there was now a dingy training-home for fallen girls. The place, however, was not without dignity. And to Juley and her children, the ugly, well-built house at the corner felt like a part of themselves. They all hated the idea of leaving it, even for the excitement of a West-End mansion.