“I can’t pay that hundred,” he said. “And I’ve got to pay it to-morrow. I—you can’t understand.”
“And if you weren’t so honest and sound at heart you couldn’t feel so sorry!” thought Rose. But she did not intend to give him too much consolation; his shame and remorse were of inestimable value to him. “If you’ll wash and change your wet clothes, and eat your nice hot dinner, you’ll feel better,” she insisted.
“I’ll—I’ll never feel better!” said he.
“I’ll give you a cup of coffee now,” she began, when that sound, welcome beyond all others, reached her ears—Nina’s step on the veranda.
“Wait, Gilbert!” she cried, and ran back into her own house. Nina was standing in the front room, drawing off her gloves.
“Rose,” she said, in a strange, flat voice. “It’s all gone—every cent!”
Rose helped her off with her wet jacket, took off her hat, pushed her gently into a chair, and kneeling, began to unfasten her shoes, such absurd little shoes, and soaked through.
“Never mind, Nina!” she said. “We’re together, and that’s all that matters.”
Nina’s hands and feet were cold as ice, and her cheeks flushed.
“Even the check we gave for this rent was no good,” she explained. “The house belongs to Mr. Morgan, and I suppose he didn’t like to tell us. I tried to borrow—just a little—this afternoon—from friends—I thought they were friends—”