"No, I will take thirty dollars, or go to your aunt and tell her all I know."
There was no help for it. Poor Harold took out three ten-dollar bills, reluctantly enough, and gave them to Felicie.
"All right, Master Harold! You've done wisely. I thought you would see matters in the right light. Think how shocked your mother and Aunt Eliza would be if they had discovered that you were the thief."
"Don't use such language, Felicie!" said Harold, wincing. "There is no need to refer to it again."
"As you say, Master Harold. I won't detain you any longer from your walk," and Felicie, with a smile, rose from the sofa and left the room, Harold following.
"Don't disturb yourself any more," she said, as she opened the door for Harold. "It will never be known. Besides, your aunt can well afford to lose this little sum. She is actually rolling in wealth. She ought to be more liberal to you."
"So she ought, Felicie. If she had, this would not have happened."
"Very true. At the same time, I don't suppose a jury would accept this as an excuse."
"Why do you say such things, Felicie? What has a jury got to do with me?"
"Nothing, I hope. Still, if it were a poor boy that had taken the money, Luke Walton, for instance, he might have been arrested. Excuse me, I see this annoys you. Let me give you one piece of advice, Master Harold."