“Yes.”
“I can better understand your sense of obligation now. When a man commits a crime for a woman she gets some fool notions into her head about standing by him. I know my nephew's extravagances, Miss Kilgour. He had to steal to get five thousand dollars for your mother. There is just one handy place where he could steal. He took that money from the state treasury. He has told you so. Am I not right?”
“Yes.”
Colonel Dodd turned his back on her and looked up at his bouquets.
Perspiration streaked his thick neck. His jowls trembled. She pitied this man, even in her own tribulation. She had never seen him moved before.
“How did you get this money, Miss Kilgour?” he asked, after a time, his voice very low.
“Must I tell you?”
“Certainly. We are going to the bottom of this thing.”
“I received a little legacy from my aunt a few years ago—I had put it away in the bank. I had saved some money from the wages I got here. My mother—I am sorry to say that she has been vain and extravagant, sir—she had wasted money on jewels and dress, and now she has sold everything. We have disposed of all our furniture and have gone to board in a very cheap place. I have been able to make out the amount of the debt. Here it is!” She placed it on his desk beside the flabby hand which lay there.
He did not speak for a long time. “I am sorry for you,” he said at last. “This is a wicked thing. But I know better than to tell you to keep this money.”