"In this," she said slowly as if repeating words suggested to her, "there are two hundred and forty-two dollars and seventy-nine cents, Captain. All through the years I have saved and saved. I've sold my linens and woollens to the city folks—I've lied—but now it will buy the chance."
A slow anger grew in Longville's eyes.
"And you did this, while owing everything to me?" he asked.
"It was father who owed you; your money went for drink, for anything and everything but safety for Cecile and me. The work of my own hands—is mine!"
"Not so say our good laws!" sneered Longville, "and now I could take it all from you and turn you out on the world."
"And will—you?" Jo asked.
She was a miserable figure standing there with her outstretched hands holding the cracked teapot.
Longville considered further. He longed to stand well in the community when it did not cost him too much. Without going into details he could so arrange this business with Jo Morey that he might shine forth radiantly—and he did not always radiate by any means.
"No!" he said presently; "I'm going to give you your chance, Mam'selle, that is, if you give me all your money."
"You said—two hundred!"