Dorothy turned pale. Slosson fumbled with his cigarette case. Mrs. Deming, quite unconscious of the effect produced by her perfectly casual words, sipped her tea.
"What do you mean, mother?" asked Dorothy in a strained voice. "You don't mean that—that any one was to blame for father's losing the company? Why, I thought he was so delighted over the way Reese handled it!"
Mrs. Deming quickly assented.
"So he was, child, of course! No, no one was to blame—and your father never let anybody dream that he was hurt. But I could see how he felt it. Now, we must not talk about such things any more. Let's everybody be bright and pleasant! This is our last day in the United States—and I'm sure we'll be miserable enough in Europe without borrowing trouble here. I just know the house will be in dreadful shape when we get home!"
Dorothy glanced at Slosson, who was lighting a cigarette. For a moment his eyes met hers, and in them she read a startled uneasiness. It frightened her. So did his words, despite the smile upon his lips.
"That's right, Mrs. Deming—never mind what's past and gone! Let the dead bury their dead, eh? Only stirs up trouble and does no good, to rake over the past."
Dorothy glance at her watch. "Mercy! We must meet father and Reese—come along, Pete! They'll be delighted to see you. We're to meet them in the parlors—"
"For a moment only." Slosson rose. "I'm overdue now for an appointment, Dot. I'll come along and shake hands, then duck."
It did not occur to Dorothy to ask with whom he had an appointment. And Slosson certainly had no intention of volunteering that it was with Lawrence Macgowan.
As a matter of fact, Dorothy could think only of one thing—those words, so terrible because so innocent, which her mother had uttered. With this, the air and speech of Slosson, as though he too knew some dread secret in regard to Food Products and the manner in which it had changed hands.