Work was impossible.

He hung over the fire smoking, or turning over the pages of a fresh section of the catalogue which Elizabeth had placed--complete--on his desk that morning.
It seemed to him that all the powers of mischief had risen against him.

The recent investigation of his affairs made by Elizabeth at his express wish, slight and preliminary though it was, had shown him what he had long and obstinately refused to see--that the estate had seriously gone down in value during the preceding five years; that he had a dozen scraps and disputes on his hands, more than enough to rasp the nerves of any ordinary man--and as far as nerves were concerned, he knew very well that he was not an ordinary man; that, in short, he was impoverished and embarrassed; his agent was a scandal and must be dismissed, and his new lawyers, a grasping, incompetent crew.

For a moment, indeed, he had had a glimpse of a clear sky.

A woman, who seemed to have the same kind of business faculty that many Frenchwomen possess, had laid hands on his skein of troubles, and might have unravelled them.