Connie's "No" was almost inaudible, and there was chastened sorrow in her voice when she went on to tell how Tommie had seen Jeffard and Margaret together, not once, but many times; how the man was always persuading, and the woman, reluctant at first, was visibly yielding; how within a week Tommie had seen Jeffard give her money.
"And she took it?" Myra queried.
"She didn't want to take it. Tommie says she almost fought with him to make him take it back. But he wouldn't."
Myra's sympathy circled down, but it alighted upon Connie. "You poor dear! after all your loving-kindnesses and helpings! It's miserable; but you can't do anything if you stay."
"Yes, I can. I couldn't stay alone, of course, and she will give up her room and come here to live with me. That will give me a better hold on her than I have now."
"But if you had a hundred eyes you couldn't safeguard her against her will!"
"No; but it isn't her will,—it's his. And he will not come here."
Myra's brows went together in a little frown of righteous indignation. "I should hope not,—the wretch! You were right, after all, Connie, and I'll retract all the charitable things Dick wanted me to say. He is too despicable"—
It was Connie's hand on the accusing lips that cut short the indignant arraignment.
"Please don't!" she pleaded. "He is all that you can say or think, but my ears are weary with my own repetitions of it."