“So I accepted the responsibility—as I accept many responsibilities in the way of business. It is nothing personal to me. I am paid a certain sum for handling the money devoted to your support. That is all.”
The girl asked a strange question—strange for one so young, at least. The thought had stabbed her like a knife:
“What would you do if I should die? How would you tell those—those who send the money?”
If the lawyer hesitated it was but for a moment. And his huge face was a veritable mask.
“I should advertise in the personal column of a certain metropolitan newspaper—that is all,” he declared.
“Then—then I’m just nobody, after all?” sighed the girl, wiping her eyes.
“Why—why—I wouldn’t say that!” and for the first time a little human note came into Mr. Gordon’s voice, and his pink face seemed to become less grim.
“But that’s what I am—Miss Nobody from Nowhere. I had no friends at Higbee School because of it; I’ll have no standing at Pinewood Hall, either.”
“Nonsense! nonsense!” ejaculated Mr. Gordon, tapping his desk again.
“Girls who have homes—and folks—don’t want to associate with girls who come from nowhere and don’t know anything about themselves.”