and Mrs.
Vertrees sat until after midnight in the library, talking. And in all
that time they found not one cheerful topic, but became more depressed
with everything and with every phase of everything that they discussed
--no extraordinary state of affairs in a family which has always "held
up its head," only to arrive in the end at a point where all it can
do is to look on helplessly at the processes of its own financial
dissolution. For that was the point which this despairing couple had
reached--they could do nothing except look on and talk about it. They
were only vaporing, and they knew it.
"She needn't to have done that about her piano," vapored Mr. Vertrees.
"We could have managed somehow without it. At least she ought to have
consulted me, and if she insisted I could have arranged the details
with the--the dealer."
"She thought that it might be--annoying for you," Mrs. Vertrees
explained. "Really, she planned for you not to know about it until
they had removed--until after to-morrow, that is, but I decided to--
to mention it. You see, she didn't even tell me about it until this
morning. She has another idea, too, I'm afraid.
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