"There!" she said desolately. "It's all ruined, shattered, gone."
Marjorie tried not to feel that her mother was right.
"If father hadn't interfered," she said weakly.
"Oh, don't, my dear, speak so coldly of your father! You don't know what he has to put up with. You don't know his troubles and anxieties—all this wretched business." She paused, and her face became portentous. "Marjorie, do you know if these railways go on as they are going he may have to eat into his capital this year. Just think of that, and the worry he has! And this last shame and anxiety!"
Her voice broke again. Marjorie listened with an expression that was almost sullen.
"But what is it," she asked, "that father knows about Mr. Trafford?"
"I don't know, dear. I don't know. But it's something that matters—that makes it all different."
"Well, may I speak to Mr. Trafford before he leaves Buryhamstreet?"
"My dear! Never see him, dear—never think of him again! Your father would not dream——Some day, Marjorie, you will rejoice—you will want to thank your father on your bended knees that he saved you from the clutches of this man...."
"I won't believe anything about Mr. Trafford," she said slowly, "until I know——"