She laughed. "I'm _not_ poor--not really."

"What is it, then? You've quarrelled with your friends, and--Ah, tell

me--and let me try to help you."

"You _are_ kind--but--Well, then--it's like this. My father brought me

to England from the States a month ago: he's 'made his pile': it was in

pork, and I always wish he'd made it of something else, even canned

fruit would be better, but that doesn't matter--We didn't know anyone

here, of course, and directly we got here, he was wired

for--business--and he had to go home again."

"But surely he didn't leave you without money."

Her little foot tapped the gravel impatiently.

"I'm coming to that," she said. "Of course he didn't. He told me to stay

on at the hotel, and I did--and then one night when I was at the theatre

my maid--a horrid French thing we got in Paris--packed up all my trunks

and took all my money, and paid the bill, and went. The hotel folks let

her go--I can't think how people can be so silly. But they wouldn't let

me stay, and I wired to papa--and there was no answer, and I don't know

whatever's the matter with him. I know it all sounds as if I was making

it up as I go along--"

She stopped short, and looked at him through the dusk. He did not speak,

but whatever she saw in his face it satisfied her. She said again: "You

_are_ kind."

"Go on," he said, "tell me all about it."

"Well, then, I went into lodgings; that wicked woman had left me one

street suit--and to-day they turned me out because my money was all

gone. I had a little money in my purse--and this dress had been ordered

for a fancy ball--it _is_ smart, isn't it?--and it came after that

wretch had gone--and the guitar, too--and I thought I could make a

little money. I really _can_ sing, though you mightn't think it. And

I've been at it since five o'clock--and I've only got one shilling and

seven pence. And no one but you has ever even thought of thinking

whether I was tired or hungry or anything--and papa always took such

care of me. I feel as if I had been beaten."

"Let me think," he said. "Oh--how glad I am that you happened to come

this way."

The Literary Sense · 第 32 / 66 题