“Yes. I understand, better than you think.” Betty’s voice was sad, and she looked weary and spent. “If the bank breaks, it breaks the Elder’s heart. All the rest he could stand, but not that. The bank, the bank! He tried to sacrifice Peter Junior to that bank. He would have broken Peter’s heart for that bank, as he has his wife’s; for if it had not been for Peter’s quarrel with his father, first of all, over it, I don’t believe all the rest would have happened. Peter told me a lot. I know.”
“Betty, did you never love Peter Junior? Tell father.”
“I thought I did. I thought I knew I did,––but when Richard came home––then––I––I––knew I had made a terrible mistake; but, father, I meant to stand by Peter––and never let anybody know until––Oh, father, need I tell any more?”
“No, my dear. You would better talk with your mother.”
Bertrand Ballard left the studio more confused in his mind, and yet both sadder and wiser then he had ever been in his life. He had seen a little way into his small daughter’s 386 soul, and conceived of a power of spirit beyond him, although he considered her both unreasonable and wrong. He grieved for her that she had carried such a great burden so bravely and so long. How great must have been her love, or her infatuation! The pathetic knowledge hardened his heart toward the young man in the jail, and he no longer tried to defend him in his thoughts.
He sent Mary up to talk with Betty, and that afternoon they all walked over to the jail; for Mary could get no nearer her little daughter’s confidence, and no deeper into the heart of the matter than Betty had allowed her father to go.