“And you will take it?” with unconcealed eagerness.
“No, no,” hastily. “It is impossible—quite, quite impossible. Oh, auntie! how could I—a great strong fellow such as I—with my health and strength, take away the income of two frail women?”
“Jack dear,” she urged tearfully, “don’t look at it in that way. It is only that we long to repay you for all the happiness you have brought into our lives.”
“It is impossible, auntie,” he said, and his eyes glistened.
“Jack,”—there was a new note of tenderness in Miss Mary’s voice—“is there anything between you and Eileen?”
For answer he dropped his face in his hands with a low groan. For some moments Miss Mary was silent. She could not trust herself to speak.
“Don’t think your old auntie over-curious, Jack,” she said at last. “I love you so. It is just as if the pain was mine again, as it was long ago. It is because I suffered so once, and understand it all, I came to you to-night. Perhaps if you could tell me about it—”
“You are an angel, auntie,” he murmured, and gripped the little hand in his until he hurt it.
Miss Mary waited.
“She doesn’t care, auntie,” he said at last, as if the words were wrung from him. “It just seems as if nothing in heaven or earth matters since Eileen does not care.”