"Don't think me inquisitive," said Miss Wilmot, "if I inquire into your trouble. I infer that you are in need of money."
"Yes, madam, I am very much in need of money, or I would not think of selling my mother's ring."
"Your mother—is she living?"
"No; she has been dead for five years."
"You are not alone in the world?"
"No, thank Heaven! I don't know how I could bear to feel myself alone. I have a sick sister and a little brother."
"And does the whole burden of their support fall on you?" asked Miss Wilmot, in a tone of sympathy.
"Not quite. My little brother Harry earns two dollars a week as a cash-boy."
"That is not much help."
"It is nearly as much as I earn myself. There is not much to be earned at making vests at thirty-five cents each."