Her fingers clasped and unclasped in her lap. The Judge laid his own hand upon them.
“There, there, my dear,” he said soothingly. “Tut, tut, tut! What's all this about your uncles failing in business? That isn't possible, is it? Tell me the whole thing, just as it was told to you.”
So Mary told it, concluding by exhibiting Isaiah Chase's letter.
“It must be very bad, you see,” she said. “Isaiah never would have written if it had not been. It is hard enough to think that while I was enjoying myself in Europe and at school they were in such trouble and keeping it all to themselves. That is hard enough, when I know how they must have needed me. But if it should be true that it is their money—money they could not possibly spare—that I have been spending—wasting there in Boston, I—I—Please tell me, Judge Baxter! Have I any money of my own? Please tell me.”
The Judge rose and walked up and down the floor, his brows drawn together and his right hand slapping his leg at each turn. After seven or eight of these turns he sat down again and faced his caller.
“Mary,” he said, “suppose this story about your uncles' financial and business troubles should be true, what will you do?”
Mary met his look bravely. Her eyes were moist, but there was no hesitation in her reply.
“I shall stay at home and help them in any way I can,” she said. “There will be no more Boston and no more school for me. They need me there at home and I am going home—to stay.”
“Whether it is your money or theirs which has paid for your education?”
“Certainly. Of course I never should have gone away at all if I had not supposed my own money were paying the expenses. Judge, you haven't answered my question—and yet I think—I am afraid that you have answered it. It was their money that paid, wasn't it?”