“What’s the matter? You’re in trouble?” He waited for her to speak but she could only shake her head helplessly and blink her swimming eyes.
“Come in here with me,” he said in the old authoritative voice she still loved to obey. They turned from the crowded street where they were being jostled, into the drug store she had just quitted. It was crowded in here, too, with a swarm of elbowing people before the soda fountain. Corey guided the girl to the rear and they stopped by a deserted counter.
“Now what is it? Tell me about it,” he said shortly. “Can I help you?”
She tried again to answer him but she was still too shaken; at any effort to speak her tears threatened.
“Please,” she managed, gulping.
He left her, went to the soda counter and returned with a glass of water. She drank it gratefully; the cold drink steadied her.
“I’ve just been acting foolishly,” she said at last, dabbing her eyes with a corner of her handkerchief. “It’s all my fault, I guess.”
By degrees he pried her story from her: Martin had been treating her badly; he had been very unfair to her; their marriage was a hopeless failure; she couldn’t make it a success alone; she had struggled and struggled and she didn’t believe it was any use; he was fearfully extravagant and she had to do all the saving to keep them out of debt; she had done without a servant just so they could get a little ahead, but try as she would, they kept falling behind, and Martin didn’t care....
She had no intention of misrepresenting her case to Mr. Corey, but hungered for his sympathy, for his justification and approval, for his censure of her husband.
He heard her with furrowed brows, his keen eyes watching her face, and when she fell silent, he waited a long moment.