He pushes his spectacles up to the top of his head, and then drags them down again, and casts them wildly into the sugar-bowl.

"What on earth am I to do with a girl of seventeen?
If it had been a boy! even _that_ would have been bad enough--but a girl! And, of course--I know Wynter--he has died without a penny.

He was bound to do that, as he always lived without one.

_Poor_ old Wynter!"-- as if a little ashamed of himself.

"I don't see how I can afford to put her out to nurse." He pulls himself up with a start.