"I mean will you give me money?"
"I will give you anything I've got. It isn't so much as it used to be."
"It will be enough for me. I want to go at once—next week—to-morrow."
He looked at her attentively, his grave, lucid eyes ranging thoughtfully over her strong, plain face, which had grown pale and haggard, over her boyish figure, which had grown thin and wasted.
"Mary," he said suddenly, "what is the trouble? Is it an honest desire for service or is it—the open door?"
For a minute she looked at him with frightened eyes; then breaking down utterly, she buried her face in her hands and turned from him. "Oh, David, I must get away! I cannot live unless I get away!"
"From Briarlay?"
"From Briarlay, but most of all—oh, most of all," she brought this out with passion, "from Alan!"
"Then you no longer care for him?"
Instead of answering his question, she dashed the tears from her eyes, and threw back her head with a gesture that reminded him of the old boyish Mary. "Will you let me go, David?"