"Well, sit down to tell me please. You look tired; not well at all. Not in the least. Take this comfortable chair."
Obediently she sat down in Mr. Dayne's high-backed swivel-chair, which, when she leaned back, let her neat-shod little feet swing clear of the floor. The chair was a happy thought; it steadied her; so did his unexampled solicitousness, which showed, she thought, that her emotion had not escaped him.
"I have decided that I would take it," said she, "with a—a—sort of condition."
Sitting in the chair placed for Mr. Dayne's callers, the young man showed instant signs of disapprobation.
"No, no! You are big enough to accept your own without conditions."
"Oh—you won't argue with me about that, will you? Perhaps it is unreasonable, but I could never be satisfied to take it—and spend it for myself. I could never have any pleasure in it—never feel that it was really mine. So," she hurried on, "I thought that it would be nice to take it—and give it away."
"Give it away!" he echoed, astonished and displeased.
"Yes—give it to the State. I thought I should like to give it to—establish a reformatory."
Their eyes met. Upon his candid face she could watch the subtler meanings of her idea slowly sinking into and taking hold of his consciousness.
"No—no!" came from him, explosively. "No! You must not think of such a thing."