"Oil-fields!" he said largely. "Oil-fields! Or, to be exact, stock in a company formed for the purpose of purchasing oil-fields, in which by good chance I happened to be let in on the ground floor (as we say in commercial parlance, Dollykins. It is not an expression I should care to hear you use.) You are the part possessor of something like one thousand acres of virgin Kentucky soil!" He leaned back in his chair and beamed on her.
"Am I?" said Joan dubiously. "It sounds promising."
Something of her father's elation disappeared in a sigh. "Promising, yes!—but so far only promising. Oil has been struck all about us, but none as yet on our holdings. I have by no means given up hope, of course." (Richard Darcy had never given up hope in any of his lost causes.) "But I must confess that I have been disappointed. Worse than disappointed. For a while I was—well, really, desperate!" He smiled deprecatingly.
The smile did not for the moment touch Joan's heart; but it told her the truth she had dreaded. "Father! You mean you have lost the money?—There's no income left?"
"Income? Alas, no. And even the principal—Still, the land is there, one thousand acres of it, and that cannot escape!" he added, brightening. "There were times when I thought of going to live on the land. Though my experience of agriculture has been practically nil, many of our ancestors were planters and stock-breeders, and, as you know, I am a firm believer in the power of heredity. However, I was credibly informed that the property would not lend itself to agriculture. I was at my wit's end. Fancy the position!" (The Major was beginning rather to enjoy his woe in the retrospect.) "Here was I not as yet firmly established on my feet (as we say in business parlance); deprived alike of helpmate and companion, with my child at an expensive boarding-school where I had promised my dead wife she should remain until the completion of her education—and I without a dollar I could call my own! Frightful! There were certain obligations to tradespeople as well.... I am sure I do not know how for a while Ellen Neal managed to provide us with necessities!" (Joan thought grimly that she knew how.) "It became necessary to—ah!—realize on my possessions. First the silver went—I daresay you have wondered what has become of our family silver, my child? It was sacrificed to keep a roof over your head. Then the more valuable pieces of furniture—"
"Oh, don't!" groaned the girl in a sort of angry pity, "Why didn't you tell me? Oh, poor father!"
"You may well say, 'poor father.' It was for you I suffered most, for you I was afraid. A man alone can always manage to subsist in some fashion, but a man with a helpless female dependent on him—! Thank heaven," he said earnestly, "you can never know what it is to be a father! I thought constantly, 'What a home to bring a young lady into! What a situation for my child!' I may confess that I prayed—no gentleman need be ashamed to pray when he is in distress. And then like light in darkness the answer came to me. At whatever cost to myself, whatever sacrifice, I must provide comfort for Joan, a home suitable for the reception of a young gentlewoman. There was nothing left to offer except—myself. Therefore—"
His face shone with a noble sadness, and he waited for the generosity of his sacrifice to sink in.
"You mean," said Joan slowly, "that it was for my sake you married Mrs. Calloway!"
He bowed assent. "Why else? She is an excellent woman, a kind and excellent and devoted woman. But under happier circumstances, a man of my position, my traditions, my—shall I say fastidiousness?—" He shrugged, and allowed the ungallant suggestion to complete itself without words.