“Well, my dear, to tell you the truth—it was a friend as— an old friend helped us a bit.”
“You wouldn’t care to say who it was?”
John was gravely embarrassed. Clara moved her head a little, so as to regard him, but at once turned away, shrinkingly, when she met his eyes.
“Why don’t you like to tell me, father? Was it Mr. Kirkwood?”
“Yes, my dear, it was.”
Neither spoke for a long time. Clara’s head sank lower; she drew her hand away from her father’s, and used it to shield her face! When she spoke, it was as if to herself.
“I suppose he’s altered in some ways?”
“Not much; I don’t see much change, myself, but then of course . No, he’s pretty much the same.”
“He’s married, isn’t he?”
“Married? Why, what made you think that, Clara? No, not he. He had to move not long ago; his lodgin’s is in Red Lion Street now.”
“And does he ever come here?”
