"Before what?" His silence set her to thinking. "Oh!" she exclaimed, in a tone that made him curse his stupidity in reminding her. "My name's Susan Lenox—and always will be. It was my mother's name." She hesitated, decided for frankness at any cost, for his kindness forbade her to deceive him in any way. Proudly, "My mother never let any man marry her. They say she was disgraced, but I understand now. She wouldn't stoop to let any man marry her."
Spenser puzzled over this, but could make nothing of it. He felt that he ought not to inquire further. He saw her anxious eyes, her expression of one keyed up and waiting for a verdict. "I'd have only to look at you to know your mother was a fine woman," said he. Then, to escape from the neighborhood of the dangerous riddle, "Now, about your—your going," he began. "I've been thinking what to do."
"You'll help me?" said she, to dispel her last doubt—a very faint doubt, for his words and his way of uttering them had dispelled her real anxiety.
"Help you?" cried he heartily. "All I can. I've got a scheme to propose to you. You say you can't take the mail boat?"
"They know me. I—I'm from Sutherland."
"You trust me—don't you?"
"Indeed I do."
"Now listen to me—as if I were your brother. Will you?"
"Yes."
"I'm going to take you to Cincinnati with me. I'm going to put you in my boarding house as my sister. And I'm going to get you a position. Then—you can start in for yourself."