“I’m going now, and there’s one thing I want to ask you—­have you any money?”

It was out at last, and she looked up composedly, smiling a little roguishly at his embarrassment.

“I have six hundred dollars in bank for a rainy day, and I am making exactly fifteen dollars a week.”

“But you can’t live on it.  Nobody could live on it even without two children to bring up.”

She shook her head.  “Oh, Judge Crowborough, how little you rich men really know!  I’ve got to live on it until I can do better, and I hope that will be very soon.  If I am worth anything now, in three months I ought to be worth certainly as much as twenty-five dollars a week.  In a little while—­as soon as I’ve caught on to the business—­I’m going to ask for a larger salary, and I think I shall get it.  Twenty-five dollars a week won’t go very far, but you don’t know how little some people can live on even in New York.”

“As soon as the six hundred dollars go you’ll be headed straight for starvation,” he protested, sincerely worried.

“Perhaps, but I doubt it.”

“How much do you have to pay for your rooms?”

“Twenty-five dollars a month.  It isn’t much of a place, you see, as far as appearances go.  Fortunately, I have a little furniture of my own which Mrs. Fowler had given me.”

His embarrassment had passed away, and he was smiling now at the recollection of it.

“Well, you’re a brick, little girl,” he said, “and I like your spirit, but, after all, why can’t you put your pride in your pocket, and let me lend you a few thousands?  You needn’t borrow much—­not enough to keep a carriage—­but you might at least take a little just to show you aren’t proud—­just to show you’ll be friends.  It seems a downright shame that I should have money to throw away, and you should be starting out to pinch and scrape on fifteen dollars a week.  Fifteen dollars a week!  Good Lord, what are we coming to?”

She was not proud, and she wanted to be friends, but she shook her head obstinately, though she was still smiling.  “Not now—­not while I can help it—­but if I ever get in trouble—­in real trouble—­I’ll remember your offer.  If the children fall ill or I lose my place, I’ll come to you in a minute.”

“Honour bright?  It’s a promise?”

“It’s a promise.”

“And you’ll let me keep an eye on you?”

She laughed with the natural gaiety which he found so delightful.  “You may keep two eyes on me if you will!”

He had already reached the door when, turning suddenly, he said with heavy gravity:  “You don’t mind my asking what you’re going to do about George, do you?

“No, I don’t mind.  As soon as I can afford it, I shall get my freedom, but everything costs, you know, even justice.”

“I could help you there, couldn’t I?”

From the gratitude in her eyes he read her horror of the marriage which still bound her.  “You could—­and, oh, if you would, I’d never, never forget it,” she answered.