“I’m blue—desperately blue,” continued Theresa. “I don’t know which way to turn.” There was a long pause, then with a flush she looked at Emily and dropped her uneasy eyes. “How——”
“I think it most unwise,” interrupted Emily, “to confide one’s private affairs to any other, and I know it’s most impertinent for any other to peer into them.”
“You’re right—but I’ve got to talk it over with some one.”
“I hope you won’t tell me more than is absolutely necessary, Theresa.”
“Well—I’m ‘up against it’—to use the kind of language that fits such a vulgar muddle. And I’ve neglected my business until there’s nothing left of it.” A long pause, then in a strained voice: “I’ve been planning all along to marry Frank Demorest and—I find not only that he wouldn’t marry me if he could, but couldn’t if he would. He’s going to marry money. He’s got to. He told me frankly last night. He’s down to less than ten thousand a year, about a third of what it costs him to live. And he’s living up his principal.”
“This is the saddest tale of privation and poverty I ever heard,” said Emily. Then more seriously: “You’re not in love with him?”
“Well—he’s good-looking; he knows the world; he has the right sort of manners, and goes with the right sort of people, and he comes of a splendid old family.”
“His father kept a drygoods shop, didn’t he?”
“Yes—but that was when Frank was a young man. And it was a big shop—wholesale, you know—not retail. He never worked in it or anywhere else. You could tell that he’d never worked, but had always been a gentleman, and only looked after the property.”
“I understand,” Emily nodded with great solemnity. “We’ll concede that he’s a gentleman. What next?”