completeness of the proof--in the perfect functioning of her instinct
of self-preservation. For the first time he was face to face with his
hovering dread: he was judging where he still adored.

Before long more pressing cares absorbed him. He had already begun to
watch the post for his father-in-law's monthly remittance, without
precisely knowing how, even with its aid, he was to bridge the gulf of
expense between St. Moritz and New York. The non-arrival of Mr. Spragg's
cheque was productive of graver tears, and these were abruptly confirmed
when, coming in one afternoon, he found Undine crying over a letter from
her mother.

Her distress made him fear that Mr. Spragg was ill, and he drew her to
him soothingly; but she broke away with an impatient movement.

"Oh, they're all well enough--but father's lost a lot of money. He's
been speculating, and he can't send us anything for at least three
months."

Ralph murmured reassuringly: "As long as there's no one ill!"--but in
reality he was following her despairing gaze down the long perspective
of their barren quarter.

"Three months! Three months!"

Undine dried her eyes, and sat with set lips and tapping foot while he
read her mother's letter.

"Your poor father! It's a hard knock for him. I'm sorry," he said as he
handed it back.