“Oh!” cried mother and daughter.
“But—listen, please!” said the young man, in great distress. “It’s—if you’ll just listen. You see, I had a letter written by this Mme. Van Der What’s Her Name—and Mr. Phillips wanted it—badly. And when I saw how—what it was like in the cottage—and he seemed to have all he wanted to spare for that darn fool letter. I made him pay five thousand for it. Please! Just a minute! It really belongs to you. You’re his relatives.”
“But—Cousin Peter!” cried Lucy.
“I made him up,” said Cousin Winnie, faintly. “The letter said—from an anonymous friend—and I thought—perhaps your Cousin Ronald himself—But now, of course, Lucy will return it to you at once, Mr. Ordway.”
“I can’t,” said Lucy, with a sob. “You told me this Cousin Peter yarn—and you said you were amply provided for—and I’m young and healthy—and the poor thing did look so wretched—”
“Lucy! What ‘poor thing’? Oh, Lucy, what have you done?”
“You told me he was ruined,” said Lucy. “And he did look so cold, and wretched, and dismal—and I rather like him.”
“Lucy! You didn’t—”
“I did!” cried Lucy in despair. “I gave it to Cousin Ronald!”
“He accepted it?” asked Ordway, in a terrible voice.