Left alone, she burst into tears: they were tears of gratitude and tears of shame: gratitude for the beautiful and delicate friendship of the act and its manner: shame at finding herself reduced to such a state, that she was forced to accept alms from her former lover.
As she grew calmer, the thought rose within her, that perhaps this might be the saving of Cecil—that he, finding employment, might resolutely set to work, and—no longer forced to seek a subsistence by gaming,—resume his honourable career.
Building cloud-castles on the landscape of the future, she was light and joyous when Cecil returned, and flung herself upon his neck, with almost frantic delight.
CHAPTER IV.
HUMBLED PRIDE.
Cecil received those demonstrations of joy with moody sullenness. He had returned exasperated by failure, gloomy with the dark thoughts which lowered upon him, like heavy clouds collected over the sunny fields, boding a coming storm.
"Blanche," he said, "we are beggars."
The smile was still upon her face; she pushed the hair gently from off his forehead.
"There is no hope left. I have tried every body."
"I have had a visitor, darling, since you went out. Guess who it was."