"It is only mine, in so far as I might be able to help you," I said.
"Nonsense! As if you cared!"
"I do care!" I said, and I spoke truth.
She looked at me again, broke into a mirthless laugh, and said—
"Not enough to lend me fifty pounds,—or fifty shillings, for the matter of that! I know what people mean by caring. There, that's enough! I am going home."
But my hand was on her arm, and she did not rise. A sudden thought came to me. Was this at last—at last!—the opportunity to "overcome evil with good?"
My little legacy of one hundred pounds is lying still at the Bank,—not yet invested, as Craven advised. I had to indent upon it largely, for mourning and other expenses, after my aunt's death. This year, by care and economy, I have made up the amount to something over one hundred pounds laid by; and the question of investment has recurred.
Fifty pounds out of it would be a large proportion,—to be, not lent, but given! For this was the "good" which occurred to me, as that by which I might overcome long-standing evil.
I cannot say the thought was—or is—welcome. I have none but myself to depend upon. A long lonely life may lie before me. Health and strength may at any time fail. Craven will never offer a home. I must save for the future, while working for the present.
And she has so wronged me! It came over me in a rush, as I sat there silently by my silent companion,—how she has resisted and scorned my best efforts, opposed my will, fought against my authority,—nay, far worse, if things are as I verily believe, has ruined my life's happiness, separating me from Arthur Lenox for ever!