He waited in one of the parlors until she came out from the dining-room.  She made her appearance just as a lady, one of the hotel guests, was leaving the room.  With eagerness he stepped forward to greet her, and then, with kind solicitude, inquired regarding her recent illness.

“Thank you, Mr. Cutler; I have not been really ill,” she said, with a pathetic little quiver of her red lips, “but—­I am in deep trouble; I have had bad news.”

“I am very sorry,” returned the young broker, in a tone of earnest sympathy.  “Shall I be presuming if I inquire the nature of your ill-tidings?”

She smiled up at him gratefully.

“Oh, no, and you are very kind.  It—­it is only a business trouble,” she said, a vivid flush dyeing her fair cheek; “but being a woman, perhaps I cannot meet it with quite the fortitude of a man.”

“Can I help you in any way?” the gentleman asked, eagerly.  “Come into the little reception-parlor yonder—­there is no one there—­and confide in me, if you will honor me so far.”

The fair widow took the arm he offered her, and he led her within the room, and shut the door.

“Sit here,” he said, placing a comfortable rocker for her, then he sat opposite her, and waited for her to open her heart to him.

“You know,” she began, falteringly, “that I have lost my husband; he died several months ago, and there has been some trouble about the settlement of his estate.

“His relatives contested the will, but my lawyer has always assured me that he could at least secure a handsome amount for me, even if he could not win the whole.  But the first of this week, I learned that I am to have almost nothing—­that there was not nearly as much as at first supposed, and Mr. Bently’s relatives will get that:  and so—­I am penniless.”

“Oh, not so badly off as that, I hope!” exclaimed Mr. Cutler, looking grave.

“It is true.  My lawyer’s charges will take every dollar that is coming to me, and—­oh! it is humiliating to tell you of it—­I owe a great deal of money here at this hotel, besides.  I never dreamed,” she went on, hurriedly, and flushing hotly again, “but that I could pay my bills.  I thought that I should have a large fortune, and I—­I am afraid that I have been very extravagant:  but now—­I do not know what I shall do.”

Mr. Cutler saw that she was in a very perplexing situation, and she seemed so crushed by it that all his tenderest sympathies were enlisted.

“If you would allow me to lend you any amount,” he began, when the widow showed him the first burst of temper that he had ever seen her exhibit.

“Sir, do you suppose I would borrow what I could never expect to pay?” she cried, with almost passionate scorn, and flushing to her temples.

“I beg your pardon,” Justin Cutler returned, feeling almost as if he had been guilty of an inexcusable insult; “believe me, I would not wish to put you under any obligation that would be burdensome.”