“My father signed the checks for those amounts. The alterations were made in his presence—by me. I saw him sign them. He knew very well what he was doing then. But, since, he has forgotten. His denial is folly. Dick is innocent. I can swear to it.”
Ormsby smiled sardonically as he opened the door. “It does great credit to your imagination, Mrs. Swinton. Your statement, on the face of it, is false. Unless Mr. Herresford made that avowal with his own lips, no one would take the slightest notice of it. It would only be adding folly to crime. I wish you good-day.”
He held the door wide open, still smiling with an evil light in his eyes. As she passed out, she was almost tempted to strike him, so great was her mortification.
“You are as bad as my father,” she cried. “Nothing pleases you men of money more than to wound and lacerate women’s hearts. Dora is well saved from such a cur.”
She reached the rectory in a state bordering on despair. Money could do nothing. She was powerless to evade the consequences of her folly. It was the 302 more maddening because she had only robbed her father of a little, whereas he had defrauded her of much—oh, so much!
One sentence let fall by Ormsby remained vividly in her memory. “Unless Mr. Herresford made that avowal with his own lips, no one would take the slightest notice of it.”
He should make the avowal; she would force it from him. The irony of the situation was fantastic in its horror.
She found her husband at home, looking whiter and more bloodless than ever.
“What news, Mary?” he asked awkwardly, avoiding her glance.
“The strangest, John—the strangest of all! My father is the biggest thief in America.”