"No. Not in the sense you mean. Nevertheless, we are greatly worried about him. He has been speculating. We think he has lost a lot of money. He does not speak of his business affairs as he used to do, and that makes us all the more certain that things are not going as they should with him. However, I mustn't speak of these matters now, as I wish you to have the happiest time of your life while you are with us. Why, Barbara Thurston, what a lovely frock!" exclaimed Ruth impulsively.
Barbara flushed with pleasure at the compliment. Her gown was of dark red crepe-de-chine, trimmed in soft folds of liberty velvet. Bab had tucked a single red rose in her hair. Ruth never had seen Bab look more charming.
"It is mother's Christmas present to me," explained Bab, referring to the frock. "I think it very pretty."
"I wish I could look half so well in anything," answered Ruth, but without a trace of envy in her tone. "But I must hurry. If I run on like this we'll never get to the opera."
"I was just about to ask if you mind my running down to chat with your father a few moments before we go?"
"Do, dear. It will do him good. You always act like a tonic on father," smiled Ruth. "He's in the library."
Bab tripped away, holding up her skirts, followed by the admiring eyes of her friend.
"She's such a dear," mused Ruth, beginning the finishing touches of her dressing.
Bab was especially anxious to see Mr. Stuart alone. She wanted to see if she could fathom the cause of his distress. He looked even more tired and careworn than when she had first seen him. She entered the library rather diffidently pausing before Mr. Stuart, who stood near the fireplace.
"Am I intruding?" asked Bab.