Mr. John Heron groaned and raised his melancholy eyes to the ceiling
with an expression of reprobation. Ida appeared unconscious of his
presence and kept her sad eyes steadily fixed on the lawyer's kind and
mournful face.

--"In a word, my dear child, your poor father appears to have left
absolutely no effects behind him."

Ida drew a long breath and was silent for a moment, as she tried to
realise the significance of his words.

"Do you mean that I am quite penniless?" she said, in a low voice.

Mr. Wordley blew his nose and coughed two or three times, as if he
found it difficult to reply; at last he said, in a voice almost as low
as hers: "Put shortly, I am afraid, my dear, that is what I must tell you. I had
no idea that the position was so grave. I thought that there would be
something left; sufficient, at any rate, to render you independent;
but, as I told you, I have been kept in ignorance of your father's
affairs for some years past, and I did not know how things were going.
I am surprised as well as grieved, deeply grieved; and I must confess
that I can only account for the deplorable confusion and loss by the
theory that I suggested to you the other day. I cannot but think that
your poor father must have engaged in some disastrous speculation."