Hazel’s visitors looked at each other, then at the envelopes, and then back at Hazel.
“Do you want me to say who sent those two letters?” said Mr William Forth Burge gloomily.
“I should be very grateful if you could, sir.”
“This one’s from Mr Canninge, at Ardley, I should say; and the other’s the parson’s writing, I feel sure. If they’ve sent you money, Miss Thorne, of course you won’t want mine—ours.”
It was an endorsement of her own opinion, and for the moment Hazel did not notice the dull, heavy look on her visitor’s face as she exclaimed—
“I have no doubt these gentlemen had kindly intentions, but I cannot take their help, and I want to see whether I might risk a mistake in returning the notes.”
“Oh, I think I’d return ’em,” said Mr William Forth Burge eagerly. “I’d risk its being a mistake. Even if it was, your conduct would be right.”
Hazel looked at him intently, and then bowed her head in acquiescence.
“Yes,” she said thoughtfully, “I will risk its being a mistake. Or no: Mr Burge, will you be my friend in my present helpless state? I ask you to return the notes on my behalf.”
“That’s just what I will do,” he cried excitedly, for it seemed to him that he had won the day.