"Oh," she gasped—no suspicion of laughter now—"I just love it—Oh, you're not thinking of—of sending me away, after all, Mr. Byrd?"
There was a catch in the poor girl's voice and I felt stupid and brutal.
"No—no," I growled judicially. "Not at all. I merely wanted to make sure that there is no trouble of any sort. I suggest that you report to me every day or two upon anything that occurs to you—that you think I ought to know."
"Yes, sir," she faltered, "I will, sir."
"Have they clothes and shoes and things—warm enough for this weather?"
"Oh, yes, sir—heaps," she answered, smiling again.
"And you, have you everything you need?"
"Why, yes, sir—I think I have." Her shoes seemed thin and worn. I was in no mood to be superficial or evasive.
"Are those the best shoes you have?"
"Yes, sir," she answered faintly. Her calico frock also seemed extremely thin.