“It is not often that I ask such close questions, but this time it is because of my interest. What are you to her?”
Her tone did not imply idle curiosity. He clasped his hands thoughtfully.
“Honestly, I don’t know how to answer you. I am her friend, brother, critic—I suppose. If I had to select one word to express my relation to her, I should say, chaperone.”
“Chaperone,” she repeated, with charming grace. “That is a virgin field for a man’s possibilities, but since I think of it, I had a great deal rather trust some men I know to look after a child of mine than most women.”
“Coming here alone, as Miss Powel did, and with very little capital, it was hard for her to find herself face to face with the world. But she has determination. She actually steals hours from her rest. She must have relief from the strain or it will crush all the life out of her soul.”
“Oh, yes; something must be done,” answering his intensity with a sweet interest. “Couldn’t I help you in some way?”
He reflected seriously a moment.
“I believe you could. Suppose you got her to play here four times during the month and let her believe you had rewarded her by paying her twenty-five dollars each time. I would give you my check for the hundred dollars each month.”
“That will be just the thing. Later she will be able to get some good engagements at drawing room recitals.”
“Would you indeed be willing to let me help her through you, Mrs. Low?” he asked, with some confusion.