"Nothing, unless—" and she hesitated and coloured—"unless I borrowed the money from you, and I would not do that, for I might never be able to pay you. No; there is nothing for it but Daisy!"
"My dearest Dido," said Helen, putting her arm round her neck, "what a horribly mean wretch you must think me all this time. Don't you know very well, that every farthing I possess, would have been in the common purse months ago, only—only—uncle borrowed all my money the day after I came here."
"What do you say?" cried Dido, jumping to her feet. "Oh, no, Helen; oh, surely he did not! Oh!" in great distress, and her eyes filling with tears. "This is worse than all! This is too bad. Oh, my dear, foolish child, why did you let him know you had a farthing?"
"He asked me, and what could I say?"
"He has such odd ideas about money. He looks upon it as a kind of common property, and he has all kinds of queer, wild schemes about abolishing it altogether.—Was it much?" she asked anxiously.
"Never mind, Dido, how much. The loss is yours, dear; not mine. It would have been in your hands long ago, only for this."
"Helen," said her cousin, looking very pale, "I can speak to you, as I can to no one else—not even Katie. Papa is not like other people!"
"No," assented his niece with a very serious face.
"He was always eccentric; but latterly he has been getting more so. Sometimes," lowering her voice, and glancing nervously at the door, "he is——"
"Yes; I think I understand," nodding her head gravely.