“Then you mean to make her understand what he is doing?”
“No,” replied Mrs. Hastings; “I want you to do it. I’ve reasons for believing that your influence would go further with her than mine. For one thing, I fancy she is feeling rather ashamed of herself.”
Agatha looked thoughtful. She had certainly not credited Sally with possessing any fine sense of honor, but she was willing to accept Mrs. Hastings’ assurance.
“The situation,” she pointed out, “is rather a delicate one. You wish to expose Gregory’s conduct to the girl he is going to marry, though, as you admit, the explanation will probably be painful to her. Can’t you understand that the course suggested is a particularly difficult and repugnant one—to me?”
“I’ve no doubt of it,” admitted Mrs. Hastings. “Still, I believe it must be adopted—for several reasons. In the first place, I think that if we can pull Gregory up now we shall save him from involving himself irretrievably. After all, perhaps, you owe him the effort. Then I think that we all owe something to Harry, and we can, at least, endeavor to carry out his wishes. He told what was to be done with his possessions in a will, and he never could have anticipated that Gregory would dissipate them as he is doing.”
The least reason, as she had foreseen, proved convincing to Agatha, and she made a sign of concurrence.
“If you will drive me over I will do what I can,” she promised.
Now that she had succeeded, Mrs. Hastings lost no time, and they set out for the Creighton homestead next day. Soon after they reached the house she contrived that Sally should be left alone with Agatha. The two girls stood outside the house together when Agatha turned to her companion.
“Sally,” she said, “there is something that I must tell you.”
Sally glanced at her face, and then walked forward until the log barn hid them from the house. She sat down upon a pile of straw and motioned to Agatha to take a place beside her.