In a few moments Mrs. Prescott came downstairs. She looked older and sadder than she had the last time he had seen her, and, because she had denied herself any new clothes since she had lost the money, she now wore an old gown which she had had for years. It was not a pose with her, for she no longer pitied herself, or bemoaned her limited means, but rather a sincere half-childlike desire to punish herself for having, as she believed, deprived her daughters of what she considered the best things in life. Nevertheless, her natural instinct for daintiness had asserted itself in the little touches of lace at the neck and wrists—and she looked pretty and dignified as she greeted Mr. Prescott.
It was not long before the first feeling of constraint wore off. As Alma said afterwards, it was impossible to believe that they had been laughing and chatting with the "Ogre" "just as if he were a nice old man." He called Mrs. Prescott "Lallie," and paid her two compliments. He gave them a very long discourse on the value of a scientific education for everybody, and from that veered off into a heated tirade against the uselessness of modern education, anyway.
"Am I to understand that you two young ladies are—earning money?" inquired Mr. Prescott. Amusement, chagrin, curiosity, and admiration were mingled in his changing expressions.
"Indeed we are," replied Alma, quite beaming with self-satisfaction. "Ever so much. Of course, Nancy makes more than I, now—Nance is much cleverer than I, but Nancy's work is more the intellectual kind, you know, and Nancy will probably be famous, and I'll be rich."
"Bless my soul!" gasped the "Ogre," then suddenly he threw back his head, and laughed and laughed, nor could Nancy and Mrs. Prescott keep from joining in. The more Alma proclaimed her enthusiasm for business, the more patent her utterly delightful inaptitude for it became.
Then he grew grave, and turning to Mrs. Prescott said, in a gentle, friendly voice:
"Lallie, I wish you would tell me—everything that has happened. I would be very dull, indeed, if I could not guess that you and my nieces have had a new misfortune. I blame myself. I—I have made mistakes, and—well, life is very short."
Mrs. Prescott was silent for a moment, and sat up stiffly, as if uncertain whether she should listen to the dictates of her pride or of her hopes. Then presently, speaking in a quiet, monotonous voice, she told him about her bad investment, and why she had made it.
When Mrs. Prescott had finished speaking, everyone was silent for a little while. Then Mr. Prescott said, abruptly:
"You have been only vain, Lallie." Then, bluntly but not unkindly, turning to Mrs. Prescott. "Very vain, very foolish. And now that we've talked business, I'm going to ask if I may stay to supper?"