“I almost think it’s my duty to write your uncle,” said Molly deliberately.
Jinnie gasped. She straightened and put forth an impetuous hand.
“Please don’t! I beg you not to. Some day, mebbe, some day––”
“In the meantime you’re living with people who can’t take care of you.”
“Oh, but they do, and Mr. King’s helping me,” faltered Jinnie. “Why, he’d do anything for me he could. He loves my fiddle––”
“Does he love you?” asked Molly, her heart beating swiftly.
“I don’t know, but he’s very good to me.”
Molly with one hand carefully brushed a dead leaf from her skirt.
“Do you love him?” she asked, forcing casuality into her tone.
Did she love Theodore King? The question was flung at Jinnie so suddenly that the truth burst from her lips.