Kent was as deeply moved as if the loss had been his own, and said as
much, craving more of the particulars.

"I can't give them. But I may say that the blame lies at your door,
David."

"At my door? How do you arrive at that?"

"By the shortest possible route. If you had done your duty by Elinor in
the Croydon summer, Mrs. Brentwood would have had a bright young attorney
for a son-in-law and adviser, and the bad investments would not have been
made."

Kent's laugh was entirely devoid of mirth.

"Don't trample on a man when he's down. I was neither a prophet nor the
son of a prophet. But how bad is the smash? Surely you know that?"

"No, I don't. Bradford was telling me about it the day I left Boston. He
gave me to understand that the principal family holding at present is in
the stock of a certain western railway."

"Did he happen to know the name of the stock?" asked Kent, moistening his
lips.

"He did. Fate flirts with you two in the usual fashion. Mrs. Brentwood's
little fortune--and by consequence, Elinor's and Penelope's--is tied up in
the stock of the company whose platform we are occupying at the present
moment--the Western Pacific."