Leslie made no reply. She seated herself on the edge of her bed, her head ached, she felt a new sense of fear. Should she tell Annie that she had listened to her, that she had overheard her conversation, that she knew a part at least of the terrible secret which was weighing her down?
Before she could make up her mind whether to speak or not, Annie herself came forward, drew a chair opposite to Leslie, and sat down.
“What did they say about my being absent at the meeting to-night?” she began.
“Miss Lauderdale was very much displeased,” replied Leslie in a monotonous sort of voice, “and so was Miss Frere. Miss Frere intends to speak to you in the morning. I did what I could for you. I said you were ill, and——”
“Humbug!” interrupted Annie. “I wasn’t ill.” Then she laughed in a queer, strained way. “After all, that may be as good an excuse as anything else; but I don’t mind your knowing that I wasn’t really ill. I was obliged to go out. Leslie, I am in a great, a terrible strait, and it has occurred to me that perhaps you can help me.”
“In what way?” asked Leslie.
“Leslie Gilroy, let me ask you a question. Did you ever want money so badly, so dreadfully badly, that you would even commit a crime to get it?”
“Never,” answered Leslie.
“Then you are one of the rich and lucky ones: I am one of the poor and unlucky. What a wide, wide gulf lies between us!”
“You are quite mistaken when you say that I am one of the rich ones,” said Leslie; “we are none of us rich. On the contrary, we are poor. My mother has to work very hard to support us; and I should not be here at this moment were it not for the great kindness of a friend of my dear father’s, a Mr. Parker.”