"I know all about it," said he cheerfully. "At least, I can guess. Very glad it should be so well employed. But all that was your business, not mine."
"And you never even asked who got it!" she continued, while again there gathered a mist to veil her large dark eyes.
"My dear Blanche," he answered, "I was only too happy to be of service to you. Surely it was your own, to employ as you liked. I don't want to know any more about it, even now."
"But you must know," she urged. "I've been going to tell you ever so often, but something always interrupted us; and once, when I had almost got it out, the words seemed to die away on my lips. Listen. You know I'm not very young."
He bowed in silence. The reflection naturally presented itself that if she was not very young, he must be very old.
Miss Douglas proceeded, with her eyes fixed on her listener, as if she was looking at something a long way off.
"Of course I've seen and known lots of people in my life, and had some great friends—I mean real friends—that I would have made any sacrifice to serve. Amongst these was Mr. Walters. I used to call him Daisy. General, I—I liked him better than all the rest. Better than anybody in the world—"
"And now?" asked the General anxiously, but carrying a bold front notwithstanding.
"Now, I know I was mistaken," she replied. "Though that's not the question. Well, after that horrid race—when my beautiful mare ought to have won, and didn't—I knew Daisy—Mr. Walters, I mean—had lost more than he could afford to pay—in plain English, he was ruined; and worse, wouldn't be able to show, unless somebody came to the rescue. I hadn't got the money myself. Not a hundredth part of it! So I asked you, and—and—sent it all to him. Now you know the whole business."