“Yes. She was sewing for me last week. I noticed that she seemed depressed and hadn’t much appetite for lunch—which, you know, is unusual for Augusta. She was ashamed to tell any of us about it, because it seems she’d asked Louie’s advice, and he told her not to invest in that company. But a lot of the people in her church were putting money into it, and of course that made it seem all right to her. She lost five hundred dollars, a fortune for her, and Scott says she’ll never get a cent of it back.”
“Five hundred dollars,” murmured St. Peter. “Let me see, at three dollars a day that means one hundred and sixty-six days. Now what can we do about it?”
“Of course we must do something. I knew you’d feel that way, Father.”
“Certainly. Among us, we must cover it. I’ll speak to Rosamond tonight.”
“You needn’t, dear.”
Kathleen tossed her head. “I have been to her. She refuses.”
“Refuses? She can’t refuse, my dear. I’ll have a word to say.”
The firmness of his tone, and the quick rush of claret colour under his skin, were a gratification to his daughter.
“She says that Louie took the trouble to speak to his banker and to several copper men before he advised Augusta; and that if she doesn’t learn her lesson this time, she will do the same thing over again. Rosamond said they would do something for Augusta later, but she didn’t say what.”
“Leave Rosamond to me. I’ll convince her.”
“Even if you can do anything with her, she’s determined to make Augusta admit her folly, and it can’t be done that way.