"My dear mother," Roderick said, "if
you had had eyes that were not blinded by this sad maternal vanity, you
would have seen all this for yourself; you would have seen that I 'm
anything but prosperous."
"Is it anything about money?" cried Mrs. Hudson. "Oh, do write to Mr.
Striker!"
"Money?" said Roderick. "I have n't a cent of money; I 'm bankrupt!"
"Oh, Mr. Mallet, how could you let him?" asked Mrs. Hudson, terribly.
"Everything I have is at his service," said Rowland, feeling ill.
"Of course Mr. Mallet will help you, my son!" cried the poor lady,
eagerly.
"Oh, leave Mr. Mallet alone!" said Roderick. "I have squeezed him dry;
it 's not my fault, at least, if I have n't!"
"Roderick, what have you done with all your money?" his mother demanded.
"Thrown it away! It was no such great amount. I have done nothing this
winter."
"You have done nothing?"
"I have done no work! Why in the world did n't you guess it and spare me
all this? Could n't you see I was idle, distracted, dissipated?"
"Dissipated, my dear son?" Mrs. Hudson repeated.
"That 's over for the present! But could n't you see--could n't Mary
see--that I was in a damnably bad way?"
"I have no doubt Miss Garland saw," said Rowland.
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