Poor Effie found great difficulty in using her voice. For one dreadful moment words seemed to fail her altogether. Then she gave a swift thought to her mother, to George, and her resolve was taken.
"I want to make a very queer request of you, Mr. Harvey," she said. "It may not be possible for you to grant it. For my father's sake, will you promise that you will never tell anyone what I am now asking you, if you don't find it convenient to grant it to me?"
"I'll keep your secret, of course," said the Squire. "But permit me to say one thing before you begin to tell it to me: there's not the slightest fear of my not granting it. There is nothing that you can possibly ask of me, that, under the circumstances, I should think it right to refuse. Now, pray proceed."
"I want you," said Effie—she gulped down a great lump in her throat, and proceeded in a sort of desperation—"I want you to lend me 250 pounds. I'll pay you interest—I think five per cent. is fair interest—I'll pay you interest on the money, and return it to you by installments."
There was not the least doubt that Effie's request startled the Squire. The amount of the money required was nothing to him, for he was a very rich man; but the girl's manner, her evident distress, the look of shame and misery on her face, surprised him. He guessed that she was borrowing the money for another, but for whom?
"I can see you are in trouble," he said in his kindest tone. "Why don't you confide in me? As to the money, make your mind easy, you shall have it; but girls like you don't as a rule borrow a large sum of money of this kind. Do you want it for yourself?"
"No."
"You won't tell me who it is for?"
"I cannot, Mr. Harvey. Please don't ask me."
"I won't ask you anything that distresses you. As you are talking of money, you will forgive me for saying that I am told that your mother is left badly off."