She had not that tact which he would have liked a daughter
of his to possess. She would not evade, ignore, agree not to see. She
was at times painfully blunt.
This happened now. He was warming to his subject when she interrupted
him with a question.
'What makes you think Mr Vince is rich, father?' she asked.
Mr Warden was embarrassed. The subject of Mr Vince's opulence had not
entered into his discourse. He had carefully avoided it. The fact that
he was thinking of it and that Ruth knew that he was thinking of it,
and that he knew that Ruth knew, had nothing to do with the case. The
question was not in order, and it embarrassed him.
'I--why--I don't--I never said he was rich, my dear. I have no doubt
that he has ample--'
'He is quite poor.'
Mr Warden's jaw fell slightly.
'Poor? But, my dear, that's absurd!' he cried. 'Why, only this
evening--'
He broke off abruptly, but it was too late.
'Father, you've been borrowing money from him!'
Mr Warden drew in his breath, preparatory to an indignant denial, but
he altered his mind and remained silent. As a borrower of money he had
every quality but one. He had come to look on her perspicacity in this
matter as a sort of second sight. It had frequently gone far to
spoiling for him the triumph of success.
'And he has to pawn things to live!' Her voice trembled.
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