THE LOVE OF LORD STRATHAY.
May 5.
Lord deliver me from the well-meaning!
Because of one pestilential dun, I've done what the weary waiting for money, money, money would never have driven me to do. I've been to Uncle, unknown to his wife, to ask advice. I might have known better.
It was with a wildly beating pulse that I entered the familiar little private office, thinking that Ned might be on the other side of the partition—near enough, perhaps, to hear me; that he might at any moment rap upon the door and enter the room as he used to do, upon such flimsy errands! I wondered how he would look, and what he'd say if he came; but he never did come, though the talk was long enough, mercy knows; long and profitless.
It was hard, with that cold sinking at my heart, to talk to the Judge, as he sat with his keen eyes fixed upon me, leaning back in his chair, at times frowning absent-mindedly.
"I've come to tell you—I've written home for money," I began breathlessly to explain. "But they don't understand, of course—it isn't half what I need, now. I really don't quite know what to do. And so I came to—"
My words died away into unintelligibility.
"Anticipated your allowance a little? Well, well, how much do you need?" he asked indulgently.
"I don't exactly know; not much," I cried eagerly, "I haven't asked Father to send it all at once. Two or three thousand dollars would be a great help—for the present."