Mr. Evringham cogitated a minute on the probable loneliness of the last three days, and began to wonder what this philosophy could be which gave practical help to a child of eight years. He was still holding the letter to Dr. Ballard in his hand.
“I think I'll let you direct this yourself, Jewel,” he said. He rose and brought the morocco cushion to his desk chair. “Sit up here and I will tell you the address.”
She obeyed, and Mr. Evringham watched the little fingers clenched around the pen as she strove to resist its tendency to write down hill on the envelope.
“And you're quite sure that more money will be forthcoming when yours is gone, eh?” he asked when the feat was accomplished.
“Oh yes; if I need it.”
“How will it come, for instance?”
She looked up quickly. “I don't need to know that,” she replied.
Mr. Evringham bit his lip. “That's unanswerable,” he thought, “and rather neat.”
At this moment a knock sounded at the library door, and a moment afterward Mrs. Forbes presented herself.
“Excuse me, Mr. Evringham. I'm afraid Julia has been in your way, staying so long.”