“I know what your teachers have reported. They say you are fairly intelligent, remarkably healthy, and quite obedient.”
“Oh, sir!”
“I consider this a flagrant case of disobedience. Don’t let it happen again,” pursued Mr. Gordon, sternly.
“But, sir! I cannot help it,” cried poor Nancy, the tears now beginning to flow. “I feel sometimes as though I couldn’t live unless I learned something about myself—who I am—who my folks were—why I am being educated—who is paying for it, and all——”
“You would better smother your curiosity,” interrupted Mr. Gordon, the fat fingers of one hand playing a noiseless tattoo upon the edge of his desk. “I can tell you nothing.”
“You are forbidden to tell?” gasped the girl.
“I know nothing, therefore I cannot tell. You came to me anonymously—that is, your identity aside from the name you bear was unknown to me. The money which supports you comes to me anonymously.”
“Oh!” The girl’s real pain and disappointment were evident even to the case-hardened lawyer. He was silent while she sobbed with her eyes against her coat-sleeve. But no change of expression came into the face that, for long years, he had trained to hide emotion before juries and witnesses.
“I might have refused the task set me years ago when—when I introduced you into Miss Prentice’s school,” he said, at last. “I might have gone to the authorities and handed you over to them—money and all. To what end? I was assured that no further money would be devoted to your up-keep and education. You would then have had no better chance than that of any foundling in a public charitable institution. Not so nice; eh?”
“Oh!” exclaimed the girl again, looking at him now through her tears.