“No, no, my dear,” he said bitterly. “Not so very bad. Read.”
“What—what does this mean?” cried Dinah, changing colour.
“Only ruin once more, my darling,” he said bitterly. “Bankrupt in honour and reputation, now I am a bankrupt in pocket.”
“Oh, father! But—but surely it is not through this mine.”
“Yes, my dear, through my folly in believing in a stranger. Bah, I have always been a fool, and as age creeps on I grow more foolish.”
“But I don’t understand, dear,” cried Dinah piteously. “A stranger! You do not mean Mr Reed?”
“Yes,” he said angrily, “I mean Mr Clive Reed. I have let him inveigle me into this speculation, and now nearly every penny I have is swept away.”
“Oh, impossible!” cried Dinah, flushing now. “Clive would never have advised you but for your good.”
“Pish!” cried the Major, tossing the letter upon the table; “here is a proof of it. Caley and Bland, the experienced brokers, who sold for me, and advised me not to put money in the speculation, show me that it is hopeless.”
“But Clive told me it meant fortune, dear; and he could not err.”