He turned and looked at her and met her eyes. They looked rather abashed, and then fell away from the scrutiny of his.
“You don’t think it queer of me to tell you that, do you?” she asked. “I tell you a good many things I wouldn’t say to other people.”
“I am proud that you should have such confidence in me.”
“Well,” she continued, with a quick sigh of relief, “we’ve been lately—that is, just about when we first knew you, and before that—really quite badly off. And my father being so sanguine, and having once been so differently situated, it’s very hard on him—very hard.”
She paused, and he felt that she was looking at him for confirmation of her remark.
“Very; I quite understand,” he answered.
“And, really, it was dreadful. It’s trying for old people—so much anxiety. And then, just at the very worst, things suddenly brightened. Just about a month or six weeks ago the luck changed. You must have been the mascot.”
This time he looked at her, but her glance was averted.
“Go on,” he said, thinking that his voice sounded strange.
“Because it was after we knew you that things began to get better. I was angry with my father that first day when he asked you in, because I didn’t want you to see how—how straitened we were. There’s a pride of poverty, you know; well, I suppose I must have a little bit of it. Everything was at its worst then. But now it’s all different. You’ve been the mascot.”