“Thank you, Edith,” he remarked simply, putting the check in his pocket. “I shall never forget this,—never. You have been very good to me. I only hope I shall not have to keep it long.”
“Don’t thank me, Donald. Just consider it a little loan from a dear friend.” He put his arm about her, and drew her to him. “God bless you, dear, you and poor old Billy. How I wish he were here to enjoy it all.” He kissed her lovingly, then started in surprise. “Why, Edith, you are crying,” he exclaimed. “What’s the matter, dear? There’s nothing wrong, is there?” He smoothed back the hair from her forehead tenderly.
“Nothing,” she cried, as she escaped from his embrace, and, going over to the desk, put the check-book back into the drawer, which she locked.
As she did so, they both turned at the sound of someone descending the stairs. It was Hall.
“Hello, Hall! Glad to see you.” Donald went up to their guest with outstretched hand.
“Rogers!” exclaimed the latter, shaking Donald’s hand vigorously. “You look just the same as you did back in ninety-five. How are you?”
“Pretty well. How are things in the West?”
“Oh, about as usual—too much politics, and not enough rain.”
Donald laughed.
“Sit down, Mr. Hall,” said Edith. “I must go and see to dinner. I’ll be back presently.” She started toward the door.