“Because,” said the broker, “they are forgeries.”
“Then I am ruined!” cried the young lady.
“No,” said Mr. Holdfast. “If the bonds are forgeries, you shall not be the loser—that is, if you will confer upon me the honour of accepting me as your banker.”
The young lady could not continue so delicate a conversation in the presence of a man who seemed to doubt her. She rose to leave the broker’s office, and when she and Mr. Holdfast were again in the open air, he said:
“Allow me to know more of you. I shall undoubtedly be able to assist you. You cannot conceal from me that the unexpected discovery of this forgery is likely to deeply embarrass you. Do not consider me impertinent when I hazard the guess that you had an immediate use for some part of the money you expected to receive from the sale of these securities.”
“You guess rightly,” said the young lady; “I wished to discharge a few trifling debts.” Her lips trembled, and her eyes were filled with tears.
“And—asking you to pardon my presumption—your purse is not too heavily weighted.”
“I have just,” said the young lady, producing her purse, and opening it, “three shillings and sixpence to live upon.”
Now, although this was a serious declaration, the young lady, when she made it, spoke almost merrily. Her lips no longer trembled, her eyes were bright again. These sudden changes of humour, from sorrow to gaiety, from pensiveness to light-heartedness, are not her least charming attributes. Small wonder that Mr. Holdfast was captivated by them and by her beauty!
“What a child you are!” he exclaimed. “Three shillings and sixpence is not sufficient to keep you for half a day.”