The girls exchanged looks of dismay.  The terrible silence was broken by Zillah, who spoke in quavering accents.

“Papa dear, I have made up my mind to get a place as a nursery governess.  I shall very soon be able to do so.”

“And I shall do the same, papa—­or something of the kind,” came abruptly from Madeline.

“You, Maddy?” exclaimed her father, who had received the youngest girl’s announcement with a look of sorrowful resignation, but was shocked at the other’s words.

“I am no longer engaged to Mr. Marsh,” Madeline proceeded, casting down her eyes.  “Please don’t say anything, mamma.  I have made up my mind.  I shall look for employment.”

Her father shook his head in distress.  He had never enjoyed the control or direction of his daughters, and his long absences during late years had put him almost on terms of ceremony with them.  In time gone by, their mother had been to him an object of veneration; it was his privilege to toil that she might live in luxury; but his illusions regarding her had received painful shocks, and it was to the girls that he now sacrificed himself.  Their intellect, their attainments, at once filled him with pride and made him humble in their presence.  But for his reluctance to impose restraints upon their mode of life, he might have avoided this present catastrophe; he had cried “Wolf!” indeed, in his mild way, but took no energetic measures when he found his cry disregarded—­all the worse for him now that he could postpone the evil day no longer.

“You are the best judge of your own affairs, Madeline,” he replied despondently.  “I’m very sorry, my girl.”

“All I can say is,” exclaimed Mrs. Denyer, as if with dignified reticence, “that I think we should have had longer warning of this!”

“My dear, I have warned you repeatedly for nearly a year.”

“I mean serious warning.  Who was to imagine that things would come to such a pass as this?”

“You never told us there was danger of absolute beggary, papa,” remarked Barbara, in a tone not unlike her mother’s.

“I ought to have spoken more plainly,” was her father’s meek answer.  “You are quite right, Barbara.  I feel that I am to blame.”

“I don’t think you are at all,” said Madeline, with decision.  “Your letters were plain enough, if we had chosen to pay any attention to them.”

Her father looked up apprehensively, deprecating defence of himself at the cost of family discord.  But he was powerless to prevent the gathering storm.  Mrs. Denyer gazed sternly at her recalcitrant daughter, and at length discharged upon the girl’s head all the wrath with which this situation inspired her.  Barbara took her mother’s side.  Zillah wept and sobbed words of reconciliation.  The unhappy cause of the tumult took refuge at the window, sunk in gloom.