"You are good, you are more than good," said Effie, rising. "But this is all I really need. I'll pay you the interest on the money every half year."
"Oh, that doesn't matter. I earnestly wish you would take it as a gift."
"Thank you, but that is impossible."
Effie stood up; she had nothing further to say.
"May I take you to my wife's room now?" said, the Squire. "I know she is waiting to see you, she is longing to be friends with you. Her recovery has been wonderful; and as to little Freda, she is almost herself again. You would like to see Freda, would you not?"
"Yes," said Effie, "but not to-day—I must hurry back to my mother. I don't know how to thank you, Mr. Harvey. Will you please tell your—your wife that I cannot stay to-day?—my mother wants me. Thank you—thank you."
The Squire himself showed Effie out. He stood for a moment by his open hall door, watched her as she walked slowly down the avenue.
"That is a plucky little thing," he said to himself. "Now, what in the world does she want that money for? Not for herself, I'll be bound. I do hope she has got no disreputable relations hanging onto her. Well, at least it is my bounden duty to help her, but I wish she would confide in me. She is a pretty girl, too, and has a look of the doctor about her eyes."
"Where is Miss Staunton?" asked Mrs. Harvey, coming forward.
"Vanishing round that corner, my love," returned the Squire. "The fact is, the poor little thing is completely upset, and cannot face anyone."