As she moves towards the door, Mr. Twemlow, attending on her, expresses his soothing hope that the condition of Mr. Lammle’s affairs is not irretrievable.

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Lammle answers, stopping, and sketching out the pattern of the paper on the wall with the point of her parasol; “it depends. There may be an opening for him dawning now, or there may be none. We shall soon find out. If none, we are bankrupt here, and must go abroad, I suppose.”

Mr. Twemlow, in his good-natured desire to make the best of it, remarks that there are pleasant lives abroad.