"That's nice of you."
"If you only felt disposed to tell me frankly of your situation and your difficulties, perhaps I could help you."
Something in this alarmed her; she favored him with a sharp little glance. "Mercy!" she said, turning it off with a laugh. "I haven't any special difficulties that I know of."
"Who are these mysterious hard-eyed young people that come and go in this house as if they owned it? I mean George Thatcher, Emily Coster, Grace Marsden, and the others. Miriam herself; who is she, and where did she come from? She's no cousin of yours."
Frank terror leaped out of Mrs. Cleaver's eyes. She attempted to mask it with a semblance of anger. "They are my friends! Am I obliged to give you an account of them!"
"Queer friends!" murmured Jack. "You scarcely speak to them unless there are outsiders here."
"What do you mean by taking this tone towards me!"
"I wish to be your friend. Don't force me to believe the worst of you. If your conscience is clear, why should you fear a few plain questions?"
"I'll hear what they are first. I don't like your tone."
"You receive a thousand dollars every week. Where does it come from?"