A deep flush covered the girl's face as she saw the money—a flush of annoyance rather than of pleasure. This man who had insulted her, who had wronged her father, who had driven her from his home, thought he could throw his gold at her and insolently send her her pay as one settles haughtily with a servant discharged for impertinence. She would have none of his money—the work she had done she would make him a present of. She replaced the cheque in the envelope and passed it back to Theresa.
“Give this to Mr. Ryder and tell him I cannot see him.”
“But Mr. Ryder said—” insisted the girl.
“Please deliver my message as I give it,” commanded Shirley with authority. “I cannot see Mr. Ryder.”
The maid withdrew, but she had barely closed the door when it was opened again and Mrs. Ryder rushed in, without knocking. She was all flustered with excitement and in such a hurry that she had not even stopped to arrange her toilet.
“My dear Miss Green,” she gasped; “what's this I hear—going away suddenly without giving me warning?”
“I wasn't engaged by the month,” replied Shirley drily.
“I know, dear, I know. I was thinking of myself. I've grown so used to you—how shall I get on without you—no one understands me the way you do. Dear me! The whole house is upset. Mr. Ryder never went to bed at all last night. Jefferson is going away, too—forever, he threatens. If he hadn't come and woke me up to say good-bye, I should never have known you intended to leave us. My boy's going—you're going—everyone's deserting me!”
Mrs. Ryder was not accustomed to such prolonged flights of oratory and she sank exhausted on a chair, her eyes filling with tears.
“Did they tell you who I am—the daughter of Judge Rossmore?” demanded Shirley.