Geraldine adroitly turned the conversation to herself. She spoke of marriage to a man uncongenial to her every way—a marriage described as a sacrifice to save a home for her people—one of the old families of Virginia,—and then of her widowhood; how Mr. DeLacy had passed away six years ago, after losing his entire fortune, and leaving her a mere pittance of an income, barely enabling her to keep up a respectable appearance.
Hugh unconsciously cast a look of surprised inquiry at her magnificent gown.
Geraldine shrugged and laughed a little bitterly.
“You are looking at my gown,” she interposed quickly. “I’ll tell you a secret, one that I have never confided in another soul—I make all my own gowns. But what is one to do?” She spread her hands in a gesture of mute helplessness.
“Remarkable!” Hugh was genuinely admiring. “But it must keep you very busy.”
“It does—sometimes I sit up until four in the morning sewing—I can’t let it interfere with any of my social engagements, and still I must do it—it is the only way I can manage at all. Why the price of the gown your daughter is wearing this evening would provide six for me.”
“Wonderful little woman!” Hugh reached out daringly to pat her hand. “So few women would be content under such circumstances.”
“Oh, but I’m not always content. Sometimes I become very much discouraged, and heartsick—I’m so terribly alone in the world. The Thurstons are good, kind people, but somehow I just can’t unburden myself to them. We Lees, of Virginia, are so terribly proud, you know. If I only had someone to take a little interest in my affairs—the small amount of money that I have invested properly would mean so much to me.”
Had this bald bid come from any man he knew, Hugh Benton would have smiled his understanding smile and put it from his mind. But now so thoroughly had Geraldine DeLacy hypnotized the man who for years had been without sympathy or the flattery that is man’s meed that he did not even see that it was a blatant asking for aid. All he could see was that here was a beautiful, a sympathetic, an understanding woman in financial straits, that she, proud as she was, had confided in him, had given him confidence for confidence in the short time it had taken them to be such good friends, and that he knew he could aid her. Why, he could make it possible for her to be independent of any of these friends or relatives. It would not be necessary for her to sit up late at night, dimming her wonderful eyes, pricking those dainty fingers making gowns in which she looked so amazingly well dressed. He could imagine how hard it was for her to have to depend on even such relations as the Thurstons. Here was his opportunity to show himself a real friend—not the casual acquaintance of a few idle hours at a dance, talking while the music purred and the moon made it an hour for confidences.
“Why not let me help you?” he asked eagerly. “You know, investing money is my business, and when I hear of something good, let me double or triple that little sum for you?”