tell her story badly if she told it now.… Had she not the right to gain a respite, to choose her own hour? Weakness—weakness again! Every delay would only increase the phantom terror. Now, now—with her head on his breast!
She turned toward him and began to speak impulsively.
“I can’t show you the letter, because it’s not—not my secret”
“Ah?” he murmured, perceptibly relieved.
“It’s from some one—unlucky—whom I’ve known about …”
“And whose troubles have been troubling you? But can’t we help?”
She shone on him through gleaming lashes. “Some one poor and ill—who needs money, I mean” She tried to laugh away her tears. “And I haven’t any! That’s my trouble!”
“Foolish child! And to beg you are ashamed? And so you’re letting your tears cool Mr. Langhope’s soup?” He had her in his arms now, his kisses drying her cheek; and she turned her head so that their lips met in a long pressure.
“Will a hundred dollars do?” he asked with a smile as he released her.
A hundred dollars! No—she was almost sure they would not. But she tried to shape a murmur of gratitude. “Thank you—thank you! I hated to ask.…”
[ 488 ]
