The evening before their going came. St. Clair was out at a farewell dinner, "tendered him," as he proudly announced, by his friends. Jamie, as he passed her door, heard Mercedes crying. He could not bear it; he went in.
"My darling, do not cry," the old man whispered. "Is it because you are going away? All I can do for you—all I have shall be yours!"
"What has David done? I know he has done something"—
"Nothing—nothing is wrong, dear; I assure you"—
"Then why are you so hard to him? Why will you not put the money in the business?"
Jamie was holding her hand. "My little Mercy," said he, "my little lady. Forgive me—do you forgive me?"
Mercedes looked at him, coldly perhaps.
"For the love of God, do not look like that! In the world or out of it, there's none I care for but just you, dear." Then Mercedes began to cry again, and kissed him. "And as for the money, dear, he'll have it as soon as I find the business is a decent one."