“Of honor!” repeated Miss Thusa, with a tone of ineffable contempt. “I thought you had more sense, Louis, than to talk in that nonsensical way. It’s more—it’s downright wicked. I know what it all means, well enough. They’re debts you are ashamed of, that you had no business to make, that you dare not let your father know of; and yet you call them debts of honor.”
Louis rose from his seat with a haughty and offended air.
“I was a fool to come,” he muttered to himself; “I might have known better. The Evil Spirit surely prompted me.”
Then walking rapidly to the door, he said—
“I came here for comfort and advice, Miss Thusa, according to your own bidding, not to listen to railings that can do no good to you or to me. I had been to you so often in my boyish difficulties, and found sympathy and kindness, I thought I should find it now. I know I do not deserve it, but I nevertheless expected it from you. But it is no matter. I may as well brave the worst at once.”
Snatching up his hat and pulling it over his brows, he was about to shoot through the door, when the long arm of Miss Thusa was interposed as a barrier against him.
“There is no use in being angry with an old woman like me,” said she, in a pacifying tone, just as she would soothe a fretful child. “I always speak what I think, and it is the truth, too—Gospel truth, and you know it. But come, come, sit down like a good boy, and let us talk it all over. There—I won’t say another cross word to-night.”
The first smile which had lighted up the face of Louis since his return, flitted over his lip, as Miss Thusa pushed him down into the chair he had quitted, and drew her own close to it.
“Now,” said she, “tell me how much money you want, and I’ll try to get it for you. Have faith in me. That can work wonders.”
After Louis had made an unreserved communication of the whole, she told him to come the next day.