He laughed, and blew his nose, and nodded with a shamefaced joy which affected Ida even more than his wonderful news had done.
"How can I thank you for all your goodness to me," she murmured, a little brokenly.
"Thank me! Don't you attempt to thank me, or I shall break down altogether; for I've been the stupidest and most wooden-headed idiot that ever disgraced a noble profession. I ought to have seen through your father's affectation of miserliness and indifference. Anybody but a silly old numskull would have done so. But, my dear, why are we staying here, why don't we go away at once? You'd like to go back to Herondale by the first train? You must hate the sight of this place, I should think."
"No, no," said Ida, gently. "Yes, I would like to go back to Herondale—ah, yes, as soon as possible. But I should like to see someone before I go—the sister, the nurse, who have been so good to me. You are sure"—she paused and went on shyly, "you are sure there is no mistake, that I have some money, am rich?"
"Rich as Croesus, my dear child," he responded, with a laugh.
She blushed still more deeply.
"Then, have you—have you any money with you, Mr. Wordley? I mean quite a large sum of money?" "Not a very large sum, my dear," he replied, rather puzzled. "About twenty or thirty pounds, perhaps."
Ida's face fell.
"Oh, that is not nearly enough," she murmured.
"Eh?" he asked. "But I've got my cheque-book with me. How much do you want? And, forgive me, my dear Miss Ida, but may I ask what you want it for?"