Then, as if the cruel words had stung her to a quickened sense of her own danger, she cried, piteously:
“Oh, Mrs. Adams, help me—protect me—won’t you? I don’t know what to do—I’m all alone—so alone—”
She sank into a chair and buried her face in her hands.
Esther Adams was uncertain what course to pursue. Should she protect this guilty girl, of whom she really knew nothing, or should she dismiss her at once from her house, in the interests of her other boarders, who must be considered?
Surely, her first duty was to the others—the people she had known so long, and who looked upon her house as a home and a safeguard.
“You must go,” she said, though her voice wavered as she saw the pathetic face Anita raised to look at her.
“Oh, no! Don’t send me away! Where could I go? Even the Inn people wouldn’t take me!”
“Of course they wouldn’t! Go home! Haven’t you a home? Who are you, anyway? But I don’t care who you are—you must get out of this house today—this morning. Do you hear?”
Meantime Miss Bascom, on her virtuous errand had trotted quickly to the office of the Prosecuting District Attorney.
There, however, she was told that Mr. Cray was over at the Waring house, and she concluded to go there. Nor did this displease her. She longed to be in the limelight, and the tale she had to tell would surely give her the right to be there.