“Well, then, I have taken upon myself to see to all the arrangements, and have ventured to act, just as if I were, say your father. It was necessary that I should look into poor Jeffrey’s affairs, and I have come to tell you the result. I am sorry to say, my dear young lady, that your guardian did not leave any wealth behind him. He died a poor man—perhaps this will not surprise you?”
“No,” said Doris, in a low voice; “we were always poor, I think. There was always enough——”
He nodded.
“Yes, yes, I understand. There is some money; it is not much, about a hundred pounds, I think.”
Doris listened with faint interest. If she had heard that she had been left without a penny, or heiress to a million, it would not have affected her in her present condition.
“Besides the money there were some papers—nothing of any consequence, however—letters and documents relating to business affairs, engagements at theatres, and so on.”
A faint flush came into Doris’ face, then left it absolutely colorless.
“Nothing more?” she said, with downcast eyes.
“Nothing more,” he said, gravely, watching her closely, though he seemed occupied in turning over the papers. “Did you expect——”
“I do not know,” she faltered; then she raised her large, sad eyes. “You know that I am not—Jeffrey’s daughter?”