The Major laughed harshly.
“Of course not—in your eyes, child. There, I am not going to be a brute to you, my dear. He has deceived us both.”
“He has not deceived us both,” cried Dinah, drawing herself up proudly. “Clive is incapable of deceit.”
“No, not quite—self-deceit, then. He meant well, perhaps, but, like all these mining adventurers, he was too sanguine.”
“Oh, but, father, it is impossible. It must be a false report.”
“False!” cried the Major, with a mocking laugh, as he glanced at a paper. “Look here—ruin—collapse—a bogus affair, got up to sell shares in an exhausted mine. You can read the opinions of the press, my dear, and the letters of indignant, ruined shareholders.”
“It is a false report,” cried Dinah indignantly. “Let them say this—let the whole world say it. Clive Reed is my betrothed husband, and he is an honourable gentleman. I say it is false from beginning to end.”
“Hah!” sighed the Major, as he gazed sadly at the flushed, defiant face before him; and taking his child’s hand, he drew her to him, and kissed her tenderly.
“Your mother’s child, my darling,” he said huskily. “Eighteen years ago she stood up like that in my defence, when the world said that I was a dishonourable scoundrel. She fought the fight upon my side, and fell wounded to the death, Dinah, true to her convictions that I was an innocent man; but it killed her, dear.”
Dinah laid her hands upon her father’s shoulders, and gazed into his eyes, but he met her fixed, inquiring look without a quiver, and his face grew proud and stern.