“—Three hundred and ninety dollars,” she interrupted, with a laugh. “It’s all there, dear; all back in the safe.”
“It’s a fortune! Where did you get it?” he persisted.
“Now, Phil, I’ve forbidden you to ask questions, and I mean it,” she declared, very seriously. “It is a secret which I can’t reveal. Not now, anyway.”
“Did Cousin Judith—”
“It’s no use, dear; I won’t tell.”
He strode along in silence, wondering if it were really true. They were dreadfully poor, he knew, and Cousin Judith’s money was tied up in an annuity. Where could Phœbe obtain three thousand, three hundred and ninety dollars in currency?—and on Sunday, too! Suddenly a thought caused him to start.
“You haven’t borrowed it of the Randolphs?” he demanded in a horrified tone.
The suggestion made Phœbe laugh again.
“Guess away!” she said, lightly.
“We would never be able to repay such a loan—not for years and years, if at all,” he said miserably.