“Beggars! Ruined!” repeated Mollie, with a wondering intonation, as if she could not really comprehend the meaning of the words.
She had known that her father had lost a great deal of money; that he had been greatly distressed over business complications; but, notwithstanding, their every want had been supplied—every comfort and luxury had been theirs up to this time, and she had no more conception of the meaning of the word poverty, from a practical standpoint, than an unreasoning child.
“Yes, dear,” Mr. Heatherford responded to her exclamation; “my last venture has failed—collapsed—and I am, so to speak, ruined. Oh, my darling, I could bear it for myself, but to have your life blighted at the time when it should be the brightest—to have all your future prospects blasted—crushes me to the earth.”
Mollie lifted one white hand and laid it caressingly against her father’s cheek.
“Hush, dearie! Do not talk like that,” she said in a tone of gentle reproof; “you make me feel ashamed, to be regarded as such a tender exotic.” Then she inquired gravely: “What was this ‘last venture’ to which you refer?”
The man glanced curiously up at her; then, taking her hand from his cheek, he drew it around to his lips and kissed it.
“Never mind, Goldenrod, what it was; you would not understand it if I should tell you,” he said evasively.
“All the same, I want you to tell me, if you please, papa, and I will try to understand,” Mollie returned, with quiet decision, adding: “I have heard you speak of it to Mr. Temple, and I have a curiosity to know more about it.”
“Well, it was connected with—stocks,” Mr. Heatherford reluctantly admitted, and changing color slightly.