"One night he came to me and told me that his investments had gone wrong; our mother's fortune along with the rest. A certain sum of money, right then, would tide over the critical situation.
"There was no chance but that all would come out right. He had private information that a few days would change the current. He would come out to the good—if only—"
"And you?" Joyce held him with her wide, terrified stare.
"Oh, yes! I didn't think there was any danger, and it seemed a chance to help when everything was about to come clattering around our ears. I helped. Good God, I helped!"
Gaston dropped his head on his folded arms.
"What happened when they all knew? When you explained—couldn't they help you?" Gaston flung his head back and looked at her.
"But they didn't find out. At least, they found out that I took the money—there wasn't anything else to tell. That damnable fact was enough, wasn't it? No amount of whimpering as to why I'd done it would have helped."
"But your brother?"
"He tried to get me to go away. He said in a few days all would be right. He could then save everything. I could return and repay—and—well! I wasn't made that way. I stayed."
"And—the girl?"