Peggy was conscious of a thrill of righteous indignation. She stood very straight and her eyes met those of the other girl squarely. “Lucy, are you angry with me?”
Lucy Haines did not answer immediately. Her bared throat twitched hysterically and all at once the eyes which looked into Peggy’s brimmed over.
“Don’t, please!” she said in a choked voice. “Me angry! Why, you’re the kindest girl I ever dreamed of. Till I’m dead I’ll love to think about you and how good you are. But it’s no use.”
Peggy seated herself on the woodpile. Her native cheerfulness had returned with a rush.
“Now, Lucy Haines, let’s talk like two sensible people. If I’m as nice as all that, you ought to be willing to trust me a little. What’s the reason it’s no use? What’s made all the difference since Wednesday?”
Lucy’s silence was like a barrier between them. If it had not been for the tears upon her cheeks, Peggy would have been inclined to distrust her memory of that momentary softening. The girl’s confidence came at last reluctantly, as if dragged from depths far under the surface, like water raised in buckets from a well.
“My money’s gone.”
Peggy had an uncomfortable feeling that she must grope her way. “Your money’s gone?” she repeated, to gain time.
“Yes, the money I’ve been saving up. The money that was to help me get through school next year. You know how I’ve worked this summer. And there isn’t a thing to show for it.”
“How much was it?”