He was unable to find an answer. He was trying not to see a look in her face—or was it in her soul, revealed through her eyes?—a look that made him think for the first time of a resemblance between her and her father.
"You see yourself I've got to go. Any money I could earn wouldn't more than pay for a room and board somewhere."
"You can let me advance you money while you—" He hesitated, had an idea which he welcomed eagerly—"while you study for the stage. Yes, that's the sensible thing. You can learn to act. Then you will be able to make a decent living."
She slowly shook her head. "I've no talent for it—and no liking. No, Mr. Norman, I must go back to work—and right away."
"But at least wait until you've looked into the stage business," he urged. "You may find that you like it and that you have talent for it."
"I can't take any more from you," she said.
"You think I am not to be trusted. I'm not going to say now how I feel toward you. But I can honestly say one thing. Now that you are all alone and unprotected, you needn't have the least fear of me."
She smiled faintly. "I see you don't believe me. Well, it doesn't matter. I've seen Mr. Tetlow and he has given me a place at twelve a week in his office."
Norman sank back in his chair. "He is in for himself now?"
"No. He's head clerk for Pitchley & Culver."