Miss Litchfield hesitates for a moment, then she says quickly,
"Perhaps, child, I had better tell you than strangers. There has been some trouble about your father's business, and—and he has been obliged to go." Aunt Adeline bows her head on her folded arms and weeps.
"Go where? I don't understand why that should make every one in the house so horrid," Zoe says snappishly.
"Child," she cries, lifting her wretched face, "don't you hear what I say? Your father is ruined, but not disgraced, thank Heaven. Though he has gone, yet he deserves no blame; always keep that in your mind. Your father never committed an action that would make us ashamed of him."
Zoe is utterly confounded; surely aunt Adeline is certainly losing her senses. Then it all dawns upon the girl's mind. Her father—her dear father—had been obliged, through the deceit of another, not his own fault—she must always remember that—to leave them all, all whom he loved on earth. She sipped her coffee thoughtfully, and stared absently through the clear, thin china saucer. Jet had seen the account of her father's absence in the paper, and tried, by cutting it out, to spare her feelings. She had heard that people in reverses of fortune had the very roof sold over their heads. She looked around the pretty, quaint oak dining room, opening into the very charming conservatory, and wonders if it will be the case with them. Ah, she hopes not, for the memories of the pretty, cosy home were very dear.
"I wish Dolores were here," she says gravely.
"Tut, child, Lady Streathmere has taken Dolores home with her; let the child enjoy herself while she can."
Aunt Adeline has had her fit of low-spiritedness, now her own energetic self asserts itself. She bustles around, and when Jet puts his head in at the door to ask Zoe if she will ride over to the mill with him, aunt Adeline insists upon her going. And never a word is mentioned about what each knew the other to be thinking of. Down the shady lane the two horses slowly walk; the wind blows soft and pleasant in the faces of the riders, and tosses the manes helter skelter over the horses' pretty arched necks.
"I am off to-morrow, little one." Jet Glen settles the fore-and-aft cap on his head, and surveys the deep blue sky above, as if he is doubting the settled state of the elements. Zoe takes her foot out of the stirrup, then puts it in again, settles the folds in the skirt of her riding habit, and says slowly,
"Are you?" She is not paying particular attention to anything going on around; she is wondering what is to be done, in fact is learning that life is not all sunshine, but full of a great many shadows. She wonders vaguely if her friends will "cut" her, as she read last week in a story. Well, it did not matter if they did; there were none she cared enough for to regret, if they were civil or otherwise.