I
met him in the street the other day, and I didn't mean to speak to him,
but he came up to me, and said he knew all about Arthur and how meanly he
had behaved, and he wanted to know if he couldn't help me--I suppose he
saw I was in trouble. He tried to persuade me to go and stay with his
aunt, who has a lovely house right round here in Twenty-fourth Street; he
must be very rich, for he offered to lend me as much money as I wanted."
"You didn't take it?"
"No," she returned; "I daresay he meant to be kind, but I didn't care to
be beholden to any friend of Arthur's. He came here again yesterday, but I
wouldn't see him, so he left a note giving me his aunt's address and
saying she'd have a room ready for me at any time."
There was a long silence; she had dried her tears and sat looking at
Woburn with eyes full of helpless reliance.
"Well," he said at length, "you did right not to take that man's money;
but this isn't the only alternative," he added, pointing to the revolver.
"I don't know any other," she answered wearily. "I'm not smart enough to
get employment; I can't make dresses or do type-writing, or any of the
useful things they teach girls now; and besides, even if I could get work
I couldn't stand the loneliness. I can never hold my head up again--I
can't bear the disgrace. If I can't go back to Joe I'd rather be dead."
"And if you go back to Joe it will be all right?" Woburn suggested with a
smile.
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