He saw Dartie in the dock, his grandchildren in the gutter, and himself in bed.

He saw the doubted Turner being sold at Jobson's, and all the majestic edifice of property in rags.

He saw in fancy Winifred unfashionably dressed, and heard in fancy Emily's voice saying: "Now, don't fuss, James!" She was always saying: "Don't fuss!" She had no nerves; he ought never to have married a woman eighteen years younger than himself.

Then Emily's real voice said: "Have you had a nice nap, James ?" Nap! He was in torment, and she asked him that! "What's this about Dartie ?" he said, and his eyes glared at her.
Emily's self-possession never deserted her.
"What have you been hearing ?" she asked blandly.
"What's this about Dartie ?" repeated James.

"He's gone bankrupt." "Fiddle!" James made a great effort, and rose to the full height of his stork-like figure.
"You never tell me anything," he said; "he's gone bankrupt." The destruction of that fixed idea seemed to Emily all that mattered at the moment.
"He has not," she answered firmly.