"You're not useless, Miss Fosdick," he said gently. "None of God's creatures are useless. Come, let's sit down somewhere and talk. I've been looking for you for days."
She seemed too tired either to protest or speak and he led her gently into the big salon. He did not think of his own feelings, for in the excitement he had forgotten to be literary. Miss Fosdick seemed plumper and prettier than he had ever imagined, and in her distress far more charming.
The furniture had been stacked into one corner. He selected one of the uncomfortable chairs and bade her sit in it. She obeyed him meekly as a rabbit. Then he opened the shutters and in a blaze of golden light the whole length of the glorious valley opened up before them. Drawing up another uncomfortable chair he seated himself and said, "Tell me now. Perhaps I can help you." But she seemed unable to do anything but sob. "Margharita," he said, "told me you had run away. She told me the whole story."
Then the flood gates burst and the whole torrent poured forth. She told him the long story of her twenty years' devotion to Mrs. Weatherby and how in the end when she could stand it no longer she had run away. And she had come back because her money had given out and at the pension they would keep her no longer unless she paid in advance. She had tried to get work as a companion. She had even advertised in the papers but there had only been three replies. One was from a clergyman's widow who required that she know how to crochet and do tatting. Another was from an elderly
