“Mr. Vigil,” said Mrs. Shortman at last, “Mr. Vigil, do you think—”
Gregory raised his face; it was flushed to the roots of his hair.
“Read that, Mrs. Shortman.”
Handing her a pale grey letter stamped with an eagle and the motto 'Strenuus aureaque penna' he rose and paced the room. And as with his long, light stride he was passing to and fro, the woman at the bureau conned steadily the writing, the girl at the typewriter sat motionless with a red and jealous face.
Mrs. Shortman folded the letter, placed it on the top of the bureau, and said without raising her eyes—
“Of course, it is very sad for the poor little girl; but surely, Mr. Vigil, it must always be, so as to check, to check——”
Gregory stopped, and his shining eyes disconcerted her; they seemed to her unpractical. Sharply lifting her voice, she went on:
“If there were no disgrace, there would be no way of stopping it. I know the country better than you do, Mr. Vigil.”
Gregory put his hands to his ears.
“We must find a place for her at once.”