Rob Fessenden was thrilled by the plaintive expression on the beautiful face, and suddenly felt a great desire to help this girl, who was seemingly so far above and beyond all need of help, and yet was surely about to ask his aid, or at least his sympathy.
“Don’t hesitate,” he said gently; “what is it, Miss Van Norman? I want to be as firm a friend of yours as I am of Schuyler’s, so please say what you wish to.”
“I can’t—I can’t,” Madeleine whispered, and her voice was almost a moan.
“Please,” again urged Fessenden.
“Do you know Dorothy Burt?” Madeleine then broke out, as if the words were fairly forced from her.
“No,” said Fessenden, amazed; “I never heard the name before. Who is she?”
“Hush! She’s nobody—less than nobody. Don’t mention her to me ever again—nor to any one else. Ah, here comes Miss Morton.”
As Fessenden watched Madeleine, she changed swiftly from a perturbed, troubled girl to a courteous, polished hostess.
“My dear Miss Morton,” she said, advancing to meet her newest guest, “how kind of you to come to me at this time.”
“I didn’t come exactly out of kindness,” said Miss Morton, “but because I desired to come. I hope you are quite well. Will you give me some tea?”