“I beg you not to think me impertinent,” said Gilead. “Your servant volunteered the information.”
She smiled, a little wanly.
“Well, it is quite true,” she said; “and I can have no purpose in denying it.”
“You must pardon me,” said the young man, “if I associate this seizure somehow with the persecution complained of in your advertisement.”
She looked down, twisting the telegram in her lap in an agitated manner.
“Yes,” she said, in a low voice. “I must admit it.”
“Have you the least objection,” he asked earnestly, “to giving me your name?”
She hesitated a moment; then raised her eyes to his steadily.
“Would it not be right for you to acquaint me first,” she said, “of the object of your visit?”
“Here, as always,” he answered, with measured clearness, “to succour the unfortunate or unhappy.”