She was standing looking down upon her husband.
"Tell me quickly, Ralph, things are all right; they must be," she argued, her voice hoarse, her eyes having a peculiar hard brightness unlike their usual velvety softness.
"Think I would not already have told you, Jean, if they were?" Ralph Merritt answered. "Suppose I would have spoken first of being tired, although I am tired straight through, if things had worked out as we hoped? The new mine is not worth the money it has required to buy the machinery. It is my fault. I should have known better and taken more time to consider and investigate. I was suffering from the same trouble that's taken hold of a good many young American fellows these days, trying to get rich in too great a hurry. I am sorry, chiefly for your sake, Jean dear, and the little girls, but more for you because the little girls won't mind seriously. I'll be able to make a living all right, but for a while I'm afraid not a big one, and these are hard times to make money go very far. I have an offer to go into New Mexico and look over another mine, and if it's any good I am to have the job of engineer."
Ralph was now sitting up, his look of fatigue and discouragement a little less apparent as he continued to talk. He was a splendid looking young fellow, a typical American with a fine, clear-cut face, a strong nose and a sensitive mouth. The eyes he turned toward Jean were wistful at this moment.
But Jean was white with disappointment and anger.
"The old story with you, Ralph, always something in the future, nothing for the present. I trust you are not expecting the little girls and me to go with you on your wild goose chase into New Mexico. I suppose when I tell Jim Colter and Jack that we have not a cent to live upon, they will allow us to remain at the ranch for a time anyhow. If I were only as clever as Jack perhaps I might be able to support the family without your help. I have little faith left in you."