But she declared she couldn’t read, and so, for her edification, Ruth was requested to read the morning paper aloud—that is, such portions of it as she thought would be interesting to her mother.
Under these circumstances the concealment of the failure of the Great Blankshire Bank for a time was not so difficult a task as it would otherwise have been.
Mr. Adrian was loth to let the blow fall upon his wife. He knew that eventually she would have to know it, but he could not summon up courage to break it yet.
With all her peculiarities, she had been a loyal and a devoted partner to him, and, looking back upon their long years of happiness and comfort, it broke his heart to think that now, in her old age—now, when infirmity had come upon her—the remaining years of her life might have to be passed in discomfort and poverty.
He hoped that there might be better news, that the report was exaggerated, and that the affairs of the bank might not be so hopelessly involved.
Ruth read the morning paper to her mother, but it was a terrible task. Over and over again her mind wandered, and her thoughts got mixed up with the matter she was reading aloud.
Her mother noticed her peculiar manner, and Ruth explained that she had a bad headache and wasn’t well, and Mr. Adrian also put his haggard looks down to a sleepless night with the toothache.
It was not a happy little party that sat round the breakfast-table that morning, for father and daughter had the burden of a terrible secret to bear, and were denied that greatest of all reliefs in trouble, open lamentation.
Ruth, like her father, had great hopes that the worst had been made of the affair. She was anxious to see Marston, and get him to ascertain for her all particulars.
She was also terribly troubled about Gertie. What could she do with the child now? If this sudden and complete poverty were coming on them, how could she burden their straitened resources with another mouth to feed?